FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM  TO 
THE   LIBRARY  OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


-..       '       ."'■':      •      < 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/fredOOfabe 


A 

■ 


HYMNS 


SELECTED  FROM 


FREDERICK  WILLIAM    FABER,  D.D. 


$TortIjamptoit,   SJlass. 

BRIDGMAN      AND      C  II I  L  D  S. 

1S67. 


Entered  according  to  Ac*"  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

BRIDGMAN    AND    CHILDS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


PREFACE. 


IS  the  English  editions  of  w  Faber's  Hymns  " 

FATP 

j$&$i  are  Q^e  expensive,  and  contain  much 
that  has  no  interest  for  any  who  are  not 
members  of  his  church,  I  have  taken  pains  to 
exclude  all  that  is  sectarian  from  these  pages,  and 
have  only  culled  that  which  will  be  dear  to  any 
heart  desiring  to  "  grow  in  the  knowledge  and  love 
of  God." 

The  few  hymns  by  Faber  that  have  already  been 
published  in  such  selections  as  K  Hymns  of  the 
Ages  "  have  met  with  so  much  favor,  that  I  confi- 
dently anticipate  an  immediate  and  wide  popularity 
for  this  selection,  which  includes  all  the  best  Hymns 
and  Poems  of  the  larger  and  more  costly  work, 
which  has  never  been  republished  in  this  country. 


PREFACE. 

I  have  omitted  here  and  there  a  verse,  but  have  not 
in  any  case  altered  one  word  of  the  original  text. 

I  feel  sure  that  those  who  once  r^ad  these  pages 
will  read  them  again  with  increasing  delight  and 
profit.  It  will  prove  a  true  friend  in  joy  or  sorrow, 
and  will  be  a  valuable  gift,  as  it  says  so  much  that 
we  all  feel,  yet  cannot  always  so  well  express. 

H.  L.  B. 

PlTTSFIELD,  MaSS. 


IV 


I.— HYMNS  FOR  THE  CLOSET. 

Page 

The  Thought  of  God 3 

The  Eternal  Word 7 

The  Eternal  Father 10 

My  Father 15 

The  Greatness  of  God 18 

Our  Heavenly  Father 21 

Jesus  my  God  and  my  all 24 

Jesus  is  God 27 

The  Will  of  God 31 

Predestination 35 

The  God  of  my  Childhood 39 

The  Eternal  Spirit 43 

Veni,  Sancte  Spiritus 47 

The  Agony 49 

Come  to  Jesus 53 

Conversion 56 

The  Christian's  Song  on  his  March  to  Heaven  ...  59 

The  World 61 

v 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

Peevishness 64 

Self-Love 6S 

Harsh  Judgments 71 

Perfection 77 

Distractions  in  Prayer So 

Dryness  in  Prayer 84 

Low  Spirits SS 

True  Love 91 

Desire  of  God 96 

The  Gifts  of  God 100 

The  Right  must  Win 104 

II. —HYMNS    FOR  THE   BEREAVED. 

A  Child's  Death no 

After  a  Death 114 

The  House  of  Mourning 119 

Deep  Grief 125 

The  Memory  of  the  Dead 129 

III.  — THE   LAST  THINGS. 

The  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 135 

How  Gently  flow  the  Silent  Years 137 

Wishes  about  Death 140 

The  Paths  of  Death 143 

The  Length  of  Death 147 

The  Eternal  Years 151 

From  ''The  Shore  of  Eternity" 155 

The  Land  beyond  the  Sea 158 

vi 


CONTENTS. 

IV.  — MISCELLANEOUS. 

Page 

The  Starry  Skies 163 

The  Creation  of  the  Angels 16S 

The  Sorrowful  World 171 

Music 176 

The  Old  Laborer 1S2 

The  Sacred  Heart 1S7 

From  "  Light  in  Darkness  m 190 

The  Shadow  of  the  Rock 192 


vn 


HYMNS    FOR   THE   CLOSET. 


THE   THOUGHT   OF   GOD. 


HE  thought  of  God,  the  thought  of  Thee, 
Who  liest  in  my  heart, 
And  yet  beyond  imagined  space 
Outstretched  and  present  art,  — 


The  thought  of  Thee,  above,  below, 

Around  me  and  within, 
Is  more  to  me  than  health  and  wealth, 

Or  love  of  kith  and  kin. 


The  thought  of  God  is  like  the  tree 
Beneath  whose  shade  I  lie, 

And  watch  the  fleet  of  snowy  clouds 
Sail  o'er  the  silent  skv. 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

'Tis  like  that  soft,  invading  light 
Which  in  all  darkness  shines, 

The  thread  that  through  life's  sombre  web 
In  golden  pattern  twines. 

It  is  a  thought  which  ever  makes 
Life's  sweetest  smiles  from  tears, 

It  is  a  daybreak  to  our  hopes, 
A  sunset  to  our  fears. 

One  while  it  bids  the  tears  to  flow, 
Then  wipes  them  from  the  eyes, 

Most  often  fills  our  soul  with  joy, 
And  always  sanctifies. 

Within  a  thought  so  great,  our  souls 

Little  and  modest  grow, 
And,  by  its  vastness  awed,  we  learn 

The  art  of  walking  slow. 

The  wild  flower  on  the  grassy  ground 

Scarce  bends  its  pliant  form, 
When  overhead  the  autumnal  wood 

Is  thundering  like  a  storm. 
4 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

So  is  it  with  our  humbled  souls, 
Down  in  the  thought  of  God, 

Scarce  conscious  in  their  sober  peace 
Of  the  wild  storms  abroad. 

To  think  of  Thee  is  almost  prayer, 

And  is  outspoken  praise  ; 
And  pain  can  even  passive  thoughts 

To  actual  worship  raise. 

O  Lord  !  I  live  always  in  pain, 

My  life's  sad  under-song, — 
Pain  in  itself  not  hard  to  bear, 

But  hard  to  bear  so  long. 

Little  sometimes  weighs  more  than  much. 

When  it  has  no  relief; 
A  joyless  life  is  worse  to  bear 

Than  one  of  active  grief. 

And  yet,  O  Lord  !  a  suffering  life 

One  grand  ascent  may  dare  ; 
Penance,  not  self-imposed,  can  make 

The  whole  of  life  a  prayer. 

5 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

All  murmurs  lie  inside  Thy  Will 
Which  arc  to  Thee  addressed ; 

To  suffer  for  Thee  is  our  work, 
To  think  of  Thee,  our  rest. 


THE   ETERNAL   WORD. 


MID  the  eternal  silences 

God's  endless  Word  was  spoken  ; 
Xone  heard  but  He  who  always  spake, 
And  the  silence  was  unbroken. 


CHORUS. 


Oh,  marvellous  !  oh,  worshipful  ! 
Xo  song  or  sound  is  heard. 
But  everywhere  and  every  hour,  . 
In  love,  in  wisdom,  and  in  power, 
The  Father  speaks  His  dear  eternal  Word. 

7 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

For  ever  in  the  eternal  land 
The  glorious  day  is  dawning ; 

For  ever  is  the  Father's  light 

Like  an  endless  outspread  morning. 

From  the  Father's  vast  tranquillity 

In  light  co-equal  glowing 
The  kingly  consubstantial  Word 

Is  unutterably  flowing. 

For  ever  climbs  that  morning  star, 

Without  ascent  or  motion  ; 
For  ever  is  its  daybreak  shed 

On  the  Spirit's  boundless  ocean. 

O  Word  !  who  fitly  can  adore 
Thy  birth  and  Thy  relation, 

Lost  in  the  impenetrable  light 
Of  Thine  awful  Generation? 

Thy  Father  clasps  Thee  evermore 

In  unspeakable  embraces, 
While  the  angels  tremble  as  they  praise, 

And  shroud  their  dazzled  faces. 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

And  oh  !  in  what  abyss  of  Love, 

So  fiery  yet  so  tender, 
The  Holy  Ghost  encircles  Thee 

With  His  uncreated  splendor  ! 

O  Word  !  O  dear  and  gentle  Word  ! 

Thy  creatures  kneel  before  Thee, 
And  in  ecstasies  of  timid  love 

Delightedly  adore  Thee. 

Hail,  choicest  mystery  of  God  ! 

Hail  wondrous  Generation  ! 
The  Father's  self-sufficient  rest ! 

The  Spirit's  jubilation  ! 

Dear  person  !  dear  beyond  all  words, 

Glorious  beyond  all  telling  ! 
Oh,  with  what  songs  of  silent  love 

Our  ravished  hearts  are  swelling  ! 

Oh,  marvellous  !  oh,  worshipful  ! 
No  song  or  sound  is  heard, 
But  everywhere  and  every  hour, 
In  love,  in  wisdom,  and  in  power, 
The  Father  speaks  his  dear  Eternal  Word. 

9 


THE   ETERNAL   FATHER. 


ATHER  !  the  sweetest,  dearest  name 
That  men  or  angels  know  ! 
Fountain  of  life,  that  had  no  fount 
From  which  itself  could  flow  ! 


Thy  life  is  one  unwearing  day ; 

Before  its  "Now,"  thou  hast 
No  varied  future  yet  unlived,    ■ 

No  lapse  of  changeless  past. 

Thou  comest  not,  Thou  goest  not ; 

Thou  wert  not,  wilt  not  be ; 
Eternity  is  but  a  thought 

By  which  we  think  of  Thee. 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

No  epochs  lie  behind  Thy  life  ; 

Thou  hold'st  Thy  life  of  none  : 
No  other  life  is  by  Thy  side  ; 

Thine  is  supremely  lone. 

Far  upward  in  the  timeless  past, 
Ere  form  or  space  had  come, 

We  see  Thee  in  Thine  own  dread  light, 
Thyself  Thine  only  home. 

Thy  vastness  is  not  young  or  old ; 

Thy  life  hath  never  grown  ; 
No  time  can  measure  out  Thy  days  ; 

No  space  can  make  Thy  throne. 

Thy  life  is  deep  within  Thyself, 

Sole  unbegotten  Sire  ! 
But  Son  and  Spirit  flow  from  Thee, 

In  co-eternal  fire. 

They  flow  from  Thee,  They  rest  in  Thee 

As  in  a  Father's  breast,  — 
Processions  of  eternal  love, 

Pulses  of  endless  rest ! 

ii 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

That  They  in  majesty  should  reign 
Co-equal,  Sire  !  with  Thee, 

But  magnifies  the  singleness 
Of  Thy  paternity. 

Their  uncreated  glories,  Lord  ! 

With  Thine  own  glory  shine  ; 
Thy  glory,  as  the  Father,  needs 

That  Theirs  should  equal  Thine. 

All  things  are  equal  in  Thy  life  ; 

Thou  joy'st  to  be  alone, 
To  have  no  sire,  and  yet  to  have 

A  co-eternal  Son. 

Thy  Spirit  is  Thy  jubilee  ; 

Thy  Word  is  Thy  delight, 
Thou  givest  Them  to  equal  Thee 

In  glory  and  in  might. 

Thou  art  too  great  to  keep  unshared 

Thy  grand  Eternity ; 
They  have  it,  as  Thy  gift  to  Them, 

Which  is  no  gift  to  Thee. 
12 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

We  too,  like  Thy  co-equal  Word, 

Within  Thy  lap  may  rest ; 
We  too,  like  Thine  Eternal  Dove, 

May  nestle  in  Thy  breast. 

Lone  fountain  of  the  Godhead,  hail ! 

Person  most  dread  and  dear  ! 
I  thrill  with  frightened  joy  to  feel 

Thy  fatherhood  so  near. 

Lost  in  Thy  greatness,  Lord  !  I  live 

As  in  some  gorgeous  maze ; 
Thy  sea  of  unbegotten  light 

Blinds  me,  and  yet  I  gaze. 

For  Thy  grandeur  is  all  tenderness, 

All  motherlike  and  meek  ; 
The  hearts  that  will  not  come  to  it, 

Humbling  itself  to  seek. 

Thou  feign'st  to  be  remote,  and  speak'st 

As  if  from  far  above, 
That  fear  may  make  more  bold  with  Thee, 

And  be  beguiled  to  love. 

J3 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

On  earth,  Thou  hidest,  not  to  scare 
Thy  children  with  Thy  light ; 

Then  showest  us  Thy  face  in  heaven, 
When  we  can  bear  the  sight. 

All  fathers  learn  their  craft  from  Thee  ; 

All  loves  are  shadows  cast 
From  the  beautiful  eternal  hills 

Of  Thine  unbeginning  past. 


H 


MY   FATHER. 


GOD  !  Thy  power  is  wonderful, 
Thy  glory  passing  bright; 
Thy  wisdom,  with  its  deep  on  deep, 
A  rapture  to  the  sight. 


Thy  justice  is  the  gladdest  thing 

Creation  can  behold ; 
Thy  tenderness  so  meek,  it  wins 

The  guilty  to  be  bold. 


Yet  more  than  all,  and  evermore, 
Should  we,  Thy  creatures,  bless, 

Most  worshipful  of  attributes, 
Thine  awful  holiness. 

*5 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

There's  not  a  craving  in  the  mind, 
Thou  dost  not  meet  and  still ; 

There's  not  a  wish  the  heart  can  have, 
Which  Thou  dost  not  fulfil. 

I  see  Thee  in  the  eternal  years 

In  glory  all  alone, 
Ere  round  Thine  uncreated  fires 

Created  light  had  shone. 

I  see  Thee  walk  in  Eden's  shade  ; 

I  see  Thee  all  through  time ; 
Thy  patience  and  compassion  seem 

New  attributes  sublime. 

I  see  Thee  when  the  doom  is  o'er, 
And  out- worn  time  is  done, 

Still,  still  incomprehensible, 
O  God  !  yet  not  alone. 

Angelic  spirits,  countless  souls, 
Of  Thee  have  drunk  their  fill ; 

And  to  eternity  will  drink 
Thy  joy  and  glory  still. 

16 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

From  Thee  were  drawn  those  worlds  of  life, 

The  Saviour's  heart  and  soul ; 
And,  undiminished  still,  Thy  waves 

Of  calmest  glory  roll. 

All  things  that  have  been,  all  that  are, 
All  things  that  can  be  dreamed ; 

All  possible  creations,  made, 
Kept  faithful,  or  redeemed, — 

All  these  may  draw  upon  Thy  power, 

Thy  mercy  may  command ; 
And  still  outflows  Thy  silent  sea, 

Immutable  and  grand. 

O  little  heart  of  mine  !  shall  pain 

Or  sorrow  make  thee  moan, 
When  all  this  God  is  all  for  thee, 

A  Father  all  thine  own  ? 


l7 


THE   GREATNESS    OF   GOD. 


MAJESTY  unspeakable  and  dread  ! 

Wert  Thou  less  mighty  than  Thou  art, 
Thou  wert,  O  Lord!    too  great  for  our 
belief, 
Too  little  for  our  heart. 


Thy  greatness  would  seem  monstrous  by  the  side 

Of  creatures  frail  and  undivine ; 
Yet  they  would  have  a  greatness  of  their  own, 
Free  and  apart  from  Thine. 


Such  grandeur  were  but  a  created  thing, 

A  spectre,  terror,  and  a  grief, 
Out  of  all  keeping  with  a  world  so  calm, 
Oppressing  our  belief. 
iS 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

But  greatness,  which  is  infinite,  makes  room 

For  all  things  in  its  lap  to  lie  ; 
We  should  be  crushed  by  a  magnificence 
Short  of  infinity. 

It  would  outgrow  us  from  the  face  of  things 

Still  prospering  as  we  decayed ; 
And,  like  a  tyrannous  rival,  it  would  feed 
Upon  the  wrecks  it  made. 

But  what  is  infinite  must  be  a  home, 

A  shelter  for  the  meanest  life, 
Where  it  is  free  to  reach  its  greatest  growth, 
Far  from  the  touch  of  strife. 

We  share  in  what  is  infinite  ;   'tis  ours, 

For  we  and  it  alike  are  Thine  ; 
What  I  enjoy,  great  God  !  by  right  of  Thee, 
Is  more  than  doubly  mine. 

Thus  doth  Thy  hospitable  greatness  lie 

Outside  us  like  a  boundless  sea ; 
We  cannot  lose  ourselves  where  all  is  home, 
Nor  drift  away  from  Thee. 

*9 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Out  on  that  sea,  we  are  in  harbor  still, 

And  scarce  advert  to  winds  and  tides, 
Like  ships  that  ride  at  anchor,  with  the  waves 
Flapping  against  their  sides. 

Thus  doth  Thy  grandeur  make  us  grand  ourselves  ; 

'Tis  goodness  bids  us  fear ; 
Thy  greatness  makes  us  brave  as  children  are 
When  those  they  love  are  near. 

Great  God  !  our  lowliness  takes  heart  to  play 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  Thy  state ; 
The  only  comfort  of  our  littleness 
Is  that  thou  art  so  great. 

Then  on  Thy  grandeur  I  will  lay  me  down"; 

Already  life  is  heaven  for  me ; 
No  cradled  child  more  softly  lies  than  I,  — 
Come  soon,  Eternity  ! 


20 


OUR   HEAVENLY   FATHER. 


Y  God  !  how  wonderful  Thou  art, 
Thy  majesty  how  bright, 
How  beautiful  Thy  mercy  seat 
In  depths  of  burning  light ! 


How  dread  are  Thine  eternal  years, 

O  everlasting  Lord  ! 
By  prostrate  spirits,  day  and  night 

Incessantly  adored  ! 


How  beautiful,  how  beautiful 

The  sight  of  Thee  must  be, 
Thine  endless  wisdom,  boundless  power 

And  awful  purity  ! 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Oh,  how  I  fear  Thee,  living  God  ! 

With  deepest,  tenderest  fears, 
And  worship  Thee  with  trembling  hope 

And  penitential  tears. 

Yet  I  may  love  Thee  too,  O  Lord ! 

Almighty  as  Thou  art, 
For  Thou  hast  stooped  to  ask  of  me 

The  love  of  this  poor  heart. 

Oh,  then,  this  worse  than  worthless  heart 

In  pity  deign  to  take, 
And  make  it  love  Thee  for  Thyself 

And  for  Thy  glory's  sake. 

No  earthly  father  loves  like  Thee, 

No  mother  half  so  mild 
Bears  and  forbears,  as  Thou  hast  done 

With  me,  thy  sinful  child. 

Only  to  sit  and  think  of  God, 

Oh  what  a  joy  it  is  ! 
To  think  the  thought,  to  breathe  the  name, 

Earth  has  no  higher  bliss. 

22 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Father  of  Jesus,  love's  Reward  ! 

What  rapture  will  it  be, 
Prostrate  before  Thy  throne  to  lie 

And  gaze,  and  gaze  on  Thee  ! 


23 


JESUS   MY   GOD   AND   MY  ALL. 


JESUS  !  Jesus  !  dearest  Lord  ! 
Forgive  me  if  I  say 
For  very  love  Thy  sacred  Name 
A  thousand  times  a  day. 


I  love  Thee  so,  I  know  not  how 
My  transports  to  control ; 

Thy  love  is  like  a  burning  fire 
Within  my  very  soul. 


Oh  wonderful !  that  Thou  shouldst  let 

So  vile  a  heart  as  mine 
Love  Thee  with  such  a  love  as  this, 

And  make  so  free  with  Thine. 


24 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

The  craft  of  this  wise  world  of  ours 
Poor  wisdom  seems  to  me  ; 

Ah!  dearest  Jesus  !  I  have  grown 
Childish  with  love  of  Thee  ! 

For  Thou  to  me  art  all  in  all, 

My  honor  and  my  wealth, 
My  heart's  desire,  my  body's  strength, 

My  soul's  eternal  health. 

Burn,  burn,  O  Love  !  within  my  heart 
Burn  fiercely  night  and  day, 

'Till  all  the  dross  of  earthly  loves 
Is  burned,  and  burned  away. 

O  light  in  darkness,  Joy  in  grief, 

O  Heaven  begun  on  earth  ! 
Jesus  !  my  love  !  my  treasure  !  who 

Can  tell  what  Thou  art  worth  ?  — 

O  Jesus  !  Jesus  !  sweetest  Lord  ! 

What  art  Thou  not  to  me  ?  — 
Each  hour  brings  joys  before  unknown, 

Each  day  new  liberty  ! 

25 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

What  limit  is  there  to  thee,  Love? 

Thy  flight  where  wilt  thou  stay  ? 
On  !  on  !  our  Lord  is  sweeter  far 

To-day  than  yesterday. 

O  love  of  Jesus  !  blessed  love  ! 

So  will  it  ever  be  ; 
Time  cannot  hold  thy  wondrous  growth, 

No,  nor  eternity. 


26 


JESUS    IS    GOD. 


ESUS  is  God  !   the  solid  earth, 
The  ocean  broad  and  bright, 
The  countless  stars,  like  golden  dust 
That  strew  the  skies  at  night, 


The  wheeling  storm,  the  dreadful  fire, 
The  pleasant,  wholesome  air, 

The  summer's  sun,  the  winter's  frost, 
His  own  creations  were. 

Jesus  is  God !  the  glorious  bands 

Of  golden  angels  sing 
Songs  of  adoring  praise  to  Him, 

Their  Maker,  and  their  King. 

27 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

He  was  true  God  in  Bethlehem's  crib, 

On  Calvary's  cross,  true  God, 
He  who  in  heaven  eternal  reigned, 

In  time,  on  earth  abode. 

Jesus  is  God  !  there  never  was 

A  time  when  He  was  not ; 
Boundless,  eternal,  merciful, 

The  Word  the  Sire  begot ! 

Backward  our  thoughts  through  ages  stretch, 
Onward  through  endless  bliss, — 

For  there  are  two  eternities, 
And  both  alike  are  His  ! 

Jesus  is  God  !  alas  !  they  say 

On  earth  the  numbers  grow, 
Who  His  Divinity  blaspheme 

To  their  unfailing  woe. 

And  yet  what  is  the  single  end 

Of  this  life's  mortal  span, 
Except  to  glorify  the  God 

Who  for  our  sakes  was  man  ? 

28 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Jesus  is  God  !  let  sorrow  come, 

And  pain,  and  every  ill ; 
All  are  worth  while,  for  all  are  means 

His  glory  to  fulfil ; 

Worth  while  a  thousand  years  of  life 

To  speak  one  little  word, 
If  by  our  Credo  we  might  own 

The  Godhead  of  our  Lord  ! 

Jesus  is  God  !  oh,  could  I  now 

But  compass  land  and  sea, 
To  teach  and  tell  this  single  truth, 

How  happy  I  should  be  ! 

Oh,  had  I  but  an  angel's  voice 
I  would  proclaim  so  loud,  — 

Jesus,  the  good,  the  beautiful, 
Is  everlasting  God ! 

Jesus  is  God  !  if  on  the  earth 

This  blessed  faith  decays, 
More  tender  must  our  love  become, 

More  plentiful  our  praise. 

29 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

We  are  not  angels,  but  we  may 
Down  in  earth's  corners  kneel, 

And  multiply  sweet  acts  of  love, 
And  murmur  what  wre  feel. 


3° 


THE   WILL   OF   GOD. 


WORSHIP  Thee,  sweet  will  of  God  ! 

And  all  Thy  ways  adore, 
And  every  day  I  live,  I  seem 

To  love  Thee  more  and  more. 


Thou  wert  the  end,  the  blessed  rule 
Of  our  Saviour's  toils  and  tears  ; 

Thou  wert  the  passion  of  His  heart 
Those  three  and  thirty  years. 


And  He  hath  breathed  into  my  soul 

A  special  love  of  Thee, 
A  love  to  lose  my  will  in  His, 

And  bv  that  loss  be  free. 


31 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

I  love  to  see  Thee  bring  to  nought 

The  plans  of  wily  men ; 
When  simple  hearts  outwit  the  wise, 

Oh  Thou  art  loveliest  then  ! 

The  headstrong  world,  it  presses  hard 

Upon  the  church  full  oft, 
And  then  how  easily  Thou  turnst 

The  hard  ways  into  soft. 

I  love  to  kiss  each  print  where  Thou 
Hast  set  Thine  unseen  feet ; 

I  cannot  fear  Thee,  blessed  will ! 
Thine  empire  is  so  sweet. 

When  obstacles  and  trials  seem 

Like  prison  walls  to  be, 
I  do  the  little  I  can  do, 

And  leave  the  rest  to  Thee. 

I  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt : 

My  heart  is  ever  gay ; 
I  run  no  risk,  for  come  what  will 

Thou  always  hast  Thy  way. 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

I  have  no  cares,  O  blessed  will ! 

For  all  my  cares  are  Thine, 
I  live  in  triumph,  Lord  !  for  Thou 

Hast  made  Thy  triumphs  mine, 

And  when  it  seems  no  chance  or  change 

From  grief  can  set  me  free, 
Hope  finds  its  strength  in  helplessness 

And  gayly  waits  on  Thee. 

Man's  weakness  waiting  upon  God 

Its  end  can  never  miss, 
For  men  on  earth  no  work  can  do 

More  angel-like  than  this. 

Ride  on,  ride  on  triumphantly, 
Thou  glorious  will !  ride  on  ; 

Faith's  pilgrim  sons,  behind  Thee  take 
The  road  that  Thou  hast  gone. 

He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God, 

To  him  no  chance  is  lost ; 
God's  will  is  sweetest  to  him,  when 

It  triumphs  at  his  cost. 

c  33 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Ill  that  He  blesses,  is  our  good, 

And  unblest  good  is  ill ; 
And  all  is  right  that  seems  most  wrong 

If  it  be  His  sweet  Will. 


34 


\&yt 


PREDESTINATION. 


ATHER  and  God  !  mine  endless  doom 
Is  hidden  in  Thy  hand, 
And  I  shall  know  not  what  it  is 
'Till  at  Thy  bar  I  stand. 


Thou  knowest  what  Thou  hast  decreed 

For  me  in  Thy  dread  will ; 
I  in  my  helpless  ignorance 

Must  tremble  and  lie  still. 


All  light  is  darkness,  when  I  think 

Of  what  may  be  my  fate ; 
Yet  hearts  will  trust,  and  hope  can  teach 

Both  faith  and  love  to  wait. 

35 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

A  little  strife  of  flesh  arid  soul, 
A  single  word  from  Thee, 

And  in  a  moment  I  possess 
A  fixed  Eternity  ;  — 

Fixed,  fixed,  irrevocably  fixed  ! 

Oh  at  this  silent  hour 
The  thought  of  what  is  possible 

Comes  writh  terrific  power : 

As  though  into  some  awful  depth 
Rash  hands  had  flung  a  stone, 

And  still  the  frightening  echoes  grow, 
As  it  goes  sounding  on. 

My  fears  adore  Thee,  O  my  God ! 

My  heart  is  chilled  with  awe ; 
Yet  love  from  out  that  very  chill 

Fresh  life  and  heat  can  draw. 

Thou  owest  me  no  duties,  Lord  ! 

Thy  being  hath  no  ties ; 
The  world  lies  open  to  Thy  will, 

Its  victim,  and  its  prize. 

36 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Father  !  Thy  power  is  merciful 

To  us  poor  worms  below. 
Not  bound  by  justice  but  because 

Thyself  hath  willed  it  so. 

The  fallen  creature  hath  no  rights, 

No  voice  in  Thy  decrees ; 
Yet  while  Thy  glory  owns  no  claims, 

Thy  love  makes  promises. 

Thou  mayest  have  willed  that  I  should  die 
In  friendship,  Lord  !  with  Thee, 

Or  I  may  in  the  act  of  sin 
Touch  on  Eternity. 

What  can  I  do  but  trust  Thee,  Lord  ! 

For  Thou  art  God  alone  ? 
My  soul  is  safer  in  Thy  hands, 

Father  !  than  in  my  own. 

I  worship  Thee  with  breathless  fears  : 
Thou  wilt  do  what  Thou  wilt ; 

The  worst  Thine  anger  hath  in  store 
Is  far  below  my  guilt. 

37 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

O  fearful  thought !  one  act  of  sin 

Within  itself  contains 
The  power  of  endless  hate  of  God, 

And  everlasting  pains. 

For  me  to  do  such  act  I  know 
How  slight  a  change  I  need, 

Yet  know  not  if  restraining  grace 
For  me  hath  been  decreed. 

What  can  I  do  but  trust  Thee,  Lord? 

That  trust  my  heart  will  cheer ; 
And  love  must  learn  to  live  abashed 

Beneath  continual  fear. 

That  Thou  art  God,  is  my  one  joy ; 

Whate'er  Thy  will  may  be, 
Thy  glory  will  be  magnified 

In  Thy  last  doom  of  me. 


38 


THE   GOD   OF   MY   CHILDHOOD. 


GOD  !  who  wert  my  childhood's  love, 

My  boyhood's  pure  delight, 
A  presence  felt  the  livelong  day, 
A  welcome  fear  at  night. 


O  let  me  speak  to  Thee,  dear  God ! 

Of  those  old  mercies  past, 
O'er  which  new  mercies  day  by  day 

Such  lengthening  shadows  cast. 


They  bade  me  call  Thee  Father,  Lord  ! 

Sweet  was  the  freedom  deemed, 
And  yet  more  like  a  mother's  ways 

Thy  quiet  mercies  seemed. 

39 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

At  school  Thou  wert  a  kindly  face 

Which  I  could  almost  see ; 
But  home  and  holiday  appeared 

Somehow  more  full  of  Thee. 

I  could  not  sleep  unless  Thy  hand 

Were  underneath  my  head, 
That  I  might  kiss  it  if  I  lay 

Wakeful  upon  my  bed. 

And  quite  alone  I  never  felt  — 
I  knew  that  Thou  wert  near, 

A  silence  tingling  in  the  room, 
A  strangely  pleasant  fear. 

And  to  home  Sundays  long  since  passed 
How  strangely  memory  clings ; 

For  then  my  mother  told  of  Thee 
Such  sweet,  such  wondrous  things. 

I  know  not  what  I  thought  of  Thee, 

What  picture  I  had  made 
Of  that  eternal  Majesty 

To  whom  my  childhood  prayed. 
40 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

I  know  I  used  to  lie  awake 

And  tremble  at  the  shape 
Of  my  own  thoughts,  yet  did  not  wish 

Thy  terrors  to  escape. 

I  had  no  secrets  as  a  child, 

Yet  never  spoke  of  Thee  ; 
The  nights  we  spent  together,  Lord  ! 

Were  only  known  to  me. 

I  lived  two  lives  which  seemed  distinct 

Yet  which  did  intertwine  ; 
One  was  my  mother's  —  it  is  gone  — 

The  other,  Lord  !  was  Thine. 

I  never  wandered  from  Thee,  Lord ! 

But  sinned  before  Thy  face  ; 
Yet  now  on  looking  back,  my  sins 

Seem  all  beset  with  grace. 

With  age  Thou  grewest  more  Divine, 
More  glorious  than  before ; 

I  feared  Thee  with  a  deeper  fear 
Because  I  loved  Thee  more. 

4i 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Thou  broadenest  out  with  every  year 

Each  breadth  of  life  to  meet ; 
I  scarce  can  think  Thou  art  the  same, 

Thou  art  so  much  more  sweet. 

Changed  and  not  changed,  Thy  present  charms 

Thy  past  ones  only  prove ; 
O  make  my  heart  more  strong  to  bear 

This  newness  of  Thy  love  ! 

These  novelties  of  Love  !  when  will 

Thy  goodness  find  an  end? 
Whither  will  Thy  compassions,  Lord  ! 

Incredibly  extend?  — 

Father  !  what  hast  Thou  grown  to  now? 

A  joy  all  joys  above, 
Something  more  sacred  than  a  fear, 

More  tender  than  a  love  ! 

With  gentle  swiftness  lead  me  on, 

Dear  God  !  to  see  Thy  face  ; 
And  meanwhile  in  my  narrow  heart 

O  make  Thyself  more  space  ! 
42 


THE   ETERNAL    SPIRIT. 


OUNTAIN  of  love  !  Thyself  true  God  ! 
Who  through  eternal  days 
From  Father  and  from  Son  hast  flowed 
In  uncreated  ways  ! 


O  Majesty  unspeakable  ! 

O  Person  all  Divine  ! 
How  in  the  Threefold  Majesty 

Doth  Thy  Procession  shine  ! 


Fixed  in  the  Godhead's  awful  light 
Thy  fiery  Breath  doth  move  ; 

Thou  art  a  wonder  by  Thyself 
To  worship  and  to  love  ! 


43 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Proceeding,  yet  of  equal  age, 
With  those  whose  love  Thou  art ; 

Proceeding,  yet  distinct,  from  those 
From  whom  Thou  seems't  to  part ; 

An  undivided  nature  shared 

With  Father  and  with  Son ; 
A  person  by  Thyself;  with  them 

Thy  simple  essence  one ; 

Bond  art  Thou  of  the  other  twain  ! 

Omnipotent  and  free  ! 
The  consummating  love  of  God ! 

The  limit  of  the  three  ! 

Thou  limitest  Infinity, 

Thyself  all  infinite ; 
The  Godhead  lives,  and  loves,  and  rests, 

In  thine  eternal  light. 

I  dread  Thee,  unbegotten  Love  ! 

True  God  !  sole  fount  of  grace  ! 
And  now  before  Thy  blessed  throne 

My  sinful  self  abase. 
44 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Ocean,  wide-flowing  ocean,  Thou, 

Of  uncreated  Love  ; 
I  tremble  as  within  my  soul 

I  feel  thy  waters  move. 

Thou  art  a  sea  without  a  shore  ; 

Awful,  immense  Thou  art; 
A  sea  which  can  contract  itself 

Within  my  narrow  heart. 

And  yet  Thou  art  a  haven  too 

Out  on  the  shoreless  sea, 
A  harbor  that  can  hold  full  well 

Shipwrecked  humanity. 

Thou  art  an  unborn  breath  outbreathed 

On  angels  and  on  men, 
Subduing  all  things  to  Thyself, 

We  know  not  how  or  when. 

Thou  art  a  God  of  fire,  that  doth 
Create  while  He  consumes  ! 

A  God  of  light !  whose  rays  on  earth 
Darken  where  He  illumes  ! 

45 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

All  things,  dread  Spirit !  to  Thy  praise 
Thy  presence  doth  transmute  ; 

Evil  itself  Thy  glory  bears, 
Its  one  abiding  fruit ! 

O  light !  O  love  !  O  very  God  ! 

I  dare  no  longer  gaze 
Upon  Thy  wondrous  attributes, 

And  their  mysterious  ways. 

O  Spirit,  beautiful  and  dread  ! 

My  heart  is  fit  to  break 
With  love  of  all  Thy  tenderness 

For  us  poor  sinners'  sake. 

Thy  love  of  Jesus  I  adore  ; 

My  comfort  this  shall  be, 
That  when  I  serve  my  dearest  Lord, 

That  service  worships  Thee  ! 


46 


VENI,  SANCTE   SPIRITUS. 


EOME,  Holy  Spirit !  from  the  height 
Of  heaven  send  down  Thy  blessed  light ! 
Come,  Father  of  the  friendless  poor  ! 
Giver  of  gifts,  and  light  of  hearts, 
Come  with  that  unction  which  imparts 
Such  consolations  as  endure. 


The  soul's  refreshment  and  her  guest, 
Shelter  in  heat,  in  labor  rest, 
The  sweetest  solace  in  our  woe  ! 
Come,  blissful  light !  Oh  come  and  fill, 
In  all  Thy  faithful,  heart  and  will, 
And  make  our  inward  fervor  glow. 

47 


HYMNS    FOR   THE    CLOSET. 

Where  Thou  art,  Lord !  there  is  no  ill, 

For  evil's  self  Thy  light  can  kill ; 

Oh  let  that  light  upon  us  rise  ! 

Lord  !  heal  our  wounds  and  cleanse  our  stains, 

Fountain  of  grace  !  and  with  Thy  rains 

Our  barren  spirits  fertilize. 

Bend  with  Thy  fires  our  stubborn  will, 
And  quicken  what  the  world  would  chill ! 
And  homeward  call  the  feet  that  stray ; 
Virtue's  reward  and  final  grace, 
The  Eternal  vision  face  to  face, 
Spirit  of  Love  !  for  these  we  pray. 


48 


THE  AGONY. 


SOUL  of  Jesus  !  sick  to  death  ! 

Thy  Blood  and  prayer  together  plead ; 
My  sins  have  bowed  Thee  to  the  ground, 

As  the  storm  bows  the  feeble  reed. 


Midnight  —  and  still  the  oppressive  load 
Upon  Thy  tortured  heart  doth  lie ; 

Still  the  abhorred  procession  winds 
Before  Thy  spirit's  quailing  eye. 


Deep  waters  have  come  in,  O  Lord ! 

All  darkly  on  Thy  human  soul ; 
And  clouds  of  supernatural  gloom 

Around  Thee  are  allowed  to  roll. 


49 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

The  weight  of  the  eternal  wrath 

Drives  over  Thee  with  pressure  dread ; 

And,  forced  upon  the  olive  roots, 

In  deathlike  sadness  droops  Thy  Head. 

Thy  Spirit  weighs  the  sins  of  men ; 

Thy  science  fathoms  all  their  guilt ; 
Thou  sickenest  heavily  at  Thy  heart, 

And  the  pores  open,  Blood  is  spilt, 

And  Thou  hast  struggled  with  it,  Lord ! 

Even  to  the  limit  of  Thy  strength, 
While  hours,  whose  minutes  were  as  years, 

Slowly  fulfilled  their  weary  length. 

And  Thou  hast  shuddered  at  each  act 
And  shrunk  with  an  astonished  fear, 

As  if  Thou  couldst  not  bear  to  see 
The  loathsomeness  of  sin  so  near. 

Sin  and  the  Father's  anger  !  they 
Have  made  Thy  lower  nature  faint ; 

All,  save  the  love  within  Thy  heart, 
Seemed  for  the  moment  to  be  spent. 
5o 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

My  God  !  my  God  !   and  can  it  be 
That  I  should  sin  so  lightly  now. 

And  think  no  more  of  evil  thoughts 

Than  of  the  wind  that  waves  the  bough: 

I  sin  —  and  heaven  and  earth  go  round 
As  if  no  dreadful  deed  were  done. 

As  if  God's  blood  had  never  flowed 
To  hinder  sin,  or  to  atone. 

I  walk  the  earth  with  lightsome  step, 
Smile  at  the  sunshine,  breathe  the  air, 

Do  my  own  will,  nor  ever  heed 

Gethsemane  and  Thy  long  prayer. 

Shall  it  be  always  thus,  O  Lord? 

Wilt  Thou  not  work  this  hour  in  me 
The  grace  Thy  passion  merited, 

Hatred  of  self,  and  love  of  Thee  ? 

Oh  by  the  pains  of  Thy  pure  love, 
Grant  me  the  gift  of  holy  fear ; 

And  give  me  of  Thy  bloody  sweat 
To  wash  my  guilty  conscience  clear  ! 

5i 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Ever  when  tempted,  make  me  see, 

Beneath  the  olive's  moon-pierced  shade, 

My  God,  alone,  outstretched,  and  bruised, 
And  bleeding,  on  the  earth  He  made, 

And  make  me  feel  it  was  my  sin, 
As  though  no  other  sin  there  were, 

That  was  to  Him  who  bears  the  world 
A  load  that  He  could  scarcely  bear. 


52 


COME  TO  JESUS. 


OULS  of  men,  why  will  ye  scatter 

Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  sheep  ? 
Foolish  hearts  !  why  will  ye  wander 
From  a  love  so  true  and  deep  ?  — 


Was  there  ever  kindest  shepherd 
Half  so  gentle,  half  so  sweet, 

As  the  Saviour  who  would  have  us 
Come  and  gather  round  His  feet  ?  — 


It  is  God  :  His  love  looks  mighty, 
But  is  mightier  than  it  seems  ! 

'Tis  our  Father;  and  His  fondness 
Goes  far  out  beyond  our  dreams. 


DO 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

There's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy, 
Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea  ; 

There's  a  kindness  in  His  justice 
Which  is  more  than  liberty. 

There  is  no  place  where  earth's  sorrows 
Are  more  felt  than  up  in  heaven  ; 

There  is  no  place  where  earth's  failings 
Have  such  kindly  judgment  given. 

There  is  welcome  for  the  sinner, 
And  more  graces  for  the  good ; 

There  is  mercy  with  the  Saviour ; 
There  is  healing  in  His  blood. 

There  is  grace  enough  for  thousands 
Of  new  worlds  as  great  as  this ; 

There  is  room  for  fresh  creations 
In  that  upper  home  of  bliss. 

For  the  love  of  God  is  broader 

Than  the  measures  of  man's  mind ; 

And  the  Heart  of  the  Eternal 
Is  most  wonderfully  kind. 

54 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

But  we  make  His  love  too  narrow 
By  false  limits  of  our  own  ; 

And  we  magnify  His  strictness 
With  a  zeal  He  will  not  own. 

There  is  plentiful  redemption 

In  the  blood  that  has  been  shed ; 

There  is  joy  for  all  the  members 
In  the  sorrows  of  the  Head. 

?Tis  not  all  we  owe  to  Jesus ; 

It  is  something  more  than  all ; 
Greater  good  because  of  evil, 

Larger  mercy  through  the  fall. 

Pining  souls  !  come  nearer  Jesus  ; 

And  oh  come  not  doubting  thus, 
But  with  faith  that  trusts  more  bravely 

His  huge  tenderness  for  us. 

If  our  love  were  but  more  simple 
We  should  take  Him  at  His  word ; 

And  our  lives  would  be  all  sunshine 
In  the  sweetness  of  our  Lord. 

55 


CONVERSION. 


FAITH  !  thou  workest  miracles 

Upon  the  hearts  of  men, 
Choosing  thy  home  in  those  same  hearts 
We  know  not  how  nor  when. 


To  one  thy  grave,  unearthly  truths 
A  heavenly  vision  seem  ; 

While  to  another's  eye  they  are 
A  superstitious  dream. 


To  one  the  deepest  doctrines  look 

So  naturally  true, 
That  when  he  learns  the  lesson  first 

He  hardly  thinks  it  new. 


56 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

To  other  hearts  the  self-same  truths 

No  light  or  heat  can  bring  ; 
They  are  but  puzzling  phrases  strung 

Like  beads  upon  a  string. 

O  gift  of  gifts  !  O  grace  of  faith  ! 

My  God  !  how  can  it  be 
That  Thou  who  hast  discerning  love 

Shouldst  give  that  gift  to  me? 

There  was  a  place,  there  was  a  time, 

Whether  by  night  or  day, 
The  Spirit  came  and  left  that  gift 

And  went  upon  its  way. 

How  many  hearts  Thou  mightest  have  had 

More  innocent  than  mine, 
How  many  souls  more  worthy  far 

Of  that  sweet  touch  of  Thine  ! 

Ah  grace  !  into  unlikeliest  hearts 

It  is  Thy  boast  to  come, 
The  glory  of  Thy  light  to  find 

In  darkest  spots  a  home. 

57 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

How  can  they  live,  how  will  they  die, 

How  bear  the  cross  of  grief, 
Who  have  not  got  the  light  of  faith, 

The  courage  of  belief?  — 

The  crowd  of  cares,  the  weightiest  cross, 

Seem  trifles  less  than  light ; 
Earth  looks  so  little  and  so  low, 

When  faith  shines  full  and  bright. 

Oh  happy,  happy  that  I  am  ! 

If  Thou  canst  be,  O  Faith, 
The  treasure  that  thou  art  in  life, 

What  wilt  thou  be  in  death? 

Thy  choice,  O  God  of  goodness  !  then 

I  lovingly  adore  ; 
O  give  me  grace  to  keep  Thy  grace, 

And  grace  to  merit  more. 


5S 


THE   CHRISTIAN'S    SOXG   OX    HIS   MARCH 
TO   HEAVEN. 


LEST  is  the  faith  divine  and  strong, 
Of  thanks  and  praise  an  endless  fountain, 
Whose  life  is  one  perpetual  song 
High  up  the  Saviours  holy  mountain. 


Blest  is  the  hope  that  holds  to  God 
In  doubt  and  darkness  still  unshaken, 
And  sings  along  the  heavenly  road, 
Sweetest  when  most  it  seems  forsaken. 


Blest  is  the  love  that  cannot  love 
Aught  that  earth  gives  of  best  and  brightest, 
Whose  raptures  thrill  like  saints'  above, 
Most  when  its  earthly  gifts  are  lightest. 

59 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Blest  is  the  time  that  in  the  eye 

Of  God  its  hopeful  watch  is  keeping, 

And  grows  into  Eternity 

Like  noiseless  trees  when  men  are  sleeping. 


rr^.--- 


60 


THE   WORLD. 


JESUS  !  if  in  days  gone  by 

My  heart  hath  loved  the  world  too  well, 
It  needs  more  love  for  love  of  Thee 

To  bid  this  cherished  world  farewell. 


And  yet  I  can  rejoice  there  are 
So  many  things  on  earth  to  love, 

So  many  idols  for  the  fire, 

My  love  and  loyal  change  to  prove. 


He  that  loves  most  hath  most  to  lose 
And  willing  loss  is  Love's  best  prize  ; 

The  more  that  Yesterday  hath  loved 
The  more  To-day  can  sacrifice. 

61 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

O  Earth  !  thou  art  too  beautiful, 

And  thou,  dear  home  !  thou  art  too  sweet, 
The  winning  ways  of  flesh  and  blood 

Too  smooth  for  sinners'  pilgrim  feet. 

The  woods  and  flowers  and  running  streams, 
The  sunshine  of  the  common  skies, 

The  round  of  household  peace  —  what  heart 
But  owns  the  might  of  these  dear  ties  ? 

The  sweetness  of  known  faces  is 
A  couch  where  weary  souls  repose ; 

Known  voices  are  as  David's  harp, 
Bewitching  Saul's  oppressive  woes. 

And  yet,  bright  world  !  thou  art  not  wise  ; 

Oh  no  !  enchantress  though  thou  art, 
Thou  art  not  skilful  in  thy  way 

Of  dealing  with  a  wearied  heart. 

If  thou  hadst  kept  thy  faith  with  me, 
I  might  have  been  thy  servant  still ; 

But  slighted  love  and  broken  faith, 

Poor  world  !  these  are  beyond  thy  skill. 
62 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Oh,  bless  thee,  bless  thee,  treacherous  world  ! 

That  thou  dost  play  so  false  a  part, 
And  drive,  like  sheep  into  the  fold, 

Our  loves  into  our  Saviour's  heart. 

This  have  I  leaned  upon,  sweet  Lord  ! 

This  world  hath  had  Thy  rightful  place  ; 
But  come,  dear  jealous  King  of  love  ! 

Come  and  begin  Thy  reign  of  grace. 

Banish  far  from  me  all  I  love, 

The  smiles  of  friends,  the  old  fireside, 

And  drive  me  to  that  home  of  homes, 
The  heart  of  Jesus  crucified. 

Take  all  the  light  away  from  earth, 
Take  all  that  men  can  love  from  me  ; 

Let  all  I  lean  upon  give  way, 

That  I  may  lean  on  naught  but  Thee. 


63 


PEEVISHNESS. 


GOD  !  that  I  could  be  with  Thee 

Alone  by  some  sea  shore, 
And  hear  Thy  soundless  voice  within, 

And  the  outward  waters  roar. 


The  cold  wet  wind  would  seem  to  wash 
The  world  from  off  my  brow ; 

And  I  should  feel  amidst  the  storm 
That  none  were  near  but  Thou. 


Each  wave  that  broke  upon  the  rocks 
Would  seem  to  break  on  me ; 

And  he  who  stands  an  outward  shock 
Gains  inward  liberty. 

64 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Upon  the  wings  of  wild  sea-birds, 
My  dark  thoughts  would  I  lay, 

And  let  them  bear  them  out  to  sea, 
In  the  tempest  far  away. 

For  life  has  grown  a  simple  weight ; 

Each  effort  seems  a  fall ; 
And  all  things  weary  me  on  earth, 

But  good  things  most  of  all. 

And  I  am  deadly  sick  of  men, 

From  shame,  and  not  from  pride ; 

My  love  of  souls,  my  joy  in  saints, 
Are  blossoms  that  have  died. 

It  seems  as  if  I  loathed  the  earth 
And  yet  craved  not  for  heaven, 

But  for  another  nature  longed, 
Not  that  which  Thou  hast  given. 

For  goodness  all  ignoble  seems, 

Ungenerous  and  small, 
And  the  holy  are  so  wearisome, 

Their  very  virtues  pall. 

e  6s 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Alas  !  this  peevishness  with  good 

Is  want  of  love  of  God ; 
Unloving  thoughts  within  distort 

The  look  of  things  abroad. 

The  discord  is  within,  which  jars 

So  sadly  in  life's  song ; 
'Tis  we,  not  they,  who  are  in  fault, 

When  others  seem  so  wrong. 

'Tis  we  who  weigh  upon  ourselves ; 

Self  is  tha  irksome  weight; 
To  those  who  can  see  straight  themselves, 

All  things  look  always  straight. 

My  God  !  with  what  surpassing  love 

Thou  lovest  all  on  earth, 
How  good  the  least  good  is  to  Thee, 

How  much  each  soul  is  worth  ! 

I  seem  to  think  if  I  could  spend 

One  hour  alone  with  Thee, 
My  human  heart  would  come  again 

From  Thy  Divinity. 
66 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

And  yet  I  cannot  build  a  cell 
For  Thee  within  my  heart, 
And  meet  Thee,  as  Thy  chosen  do, 
Where  Thou  most  truly  art. 

The  bright  examples  round  me  seem 

My  dazzled  eyes  to  hurt ; 
Thy  beauty,  which  they  should  reflect. 

They  dwindle  and  invert. 

Therefore  I  crave  for  scenes  which  might 
My  fettered  thoughts  unbind, 

And  where  the  elements  might  be 
Like  scapegoats  to  my  mind. 

Where  all  things  round  should  loudly  tell 
Storm,  rocks,  sea-birds  and  sea, 

Xot  of  Thy  worship,  but  much  more, 
And  onlv,  Lord  !  of  Thee. 


67 


SELF-LOVE. 

"  Christ  pleased  not  Himself." 


H,  I  could  go  through  all    life's   troubles 
singing, 
Turning  earth's  night  to  day, 
If  self  were  not  so  fast  around  me  cling- 
ing 
To  all  I  do  or  say. 


My  very  thoughts  are  selfish,  always  building 

Mean  castles  in  the  air ; 
I  use  my  love  for  others  for  a  gilding 

To  make  myself  look  fair. 

I  fancy  all  the  world  engrossed  with  judging 

My  merit  or  my  blame  ; 
Its  warmest  praise  seems  an  ungracious  grudging 

Of  praise  which  I  might  claim. 

68 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 


In  youth,  or  age,  by  city,  wood,  or  mountain. 

Self  is  forgotten  never  ; 
Where'er  we  tread,  it  gushes  like  a  fountain, 

Its  waters  flow  forever. 

Alas  !  no  speed  in  life  can  snatch  us  wholly 

Out  of  self's  hateful  sight ; 
And  it  keeps  step  whene'er  we  travel  slowly 

And  sleeps  with  us  at  night. 

No  grief's  sharp  knife,  no  pain's  most  cruel  sawing. 

Self  and  the  soul  can  sever ; 
The  surface,  that  in  joy  sometimes  seems  thawing, 

Soon  freezes  worse  than  ever. 

Thus  we  are  never  men,  self's  wretched  swathing 

Not  letting  virtue  swell ; 
Thus  is  our  whole  life  numbed,  forever  bathing 

Within  this  frozen  well. 

O  miserable  omnipresence,  stretching 

Over  all  time  and  space, 
How  have  I  run  from  thee,  yet  found  thee  reaching 

The  goal  in  every  race ! 

69 


HYMNS    FOR   THE    CLOSET. 

Inevitable  self!  vile  imitation 

Of  universal  light, — 
Within  our  hearts  a  dreadful  usurpation 

Of  God's  exclusive  right ! 

The  opiate  balms  of  grace  may  haply  still  thee, 

Deep  in  my  nature  lying ; 
For  I  may  hardly  hope,  alas  !  to  kill  thee, 

Save  by  the  act  of  dying. 

O  Lord !  that  I  could  waste  my  life  for  others 

With  no  ends  of  my  own, 
That  I  could  pour  myself  into  my  brothers, 

And  live  for  them  alone  ! 

Such  was  the  life  Thou  livedst;  self  abjuring, 

Thine  own  pains  never  easing, 
Our  burdens  bearing,  our  just  doom  enduring, 

A  life  without  self-pleasing  ! 


7° 


HARSH  JUDGMENTS. 


GOD  !  whose  thoughts  are  brightest  light, 
Whose  love  runs  always  clear, 
To  whose  kind  wisdom,  sinning  souls 
Amidst  their  sins  are  dear ! 


Sweeten  my  bitter-thoughted  heart 
With  charity  like  Thine, 

Till  self  shall  be  the  only  spot 
On  earth  which  does  not  shine. 


Hard-heartedness  dwells  not  with  souls 
Round  whom  Thine  arms  are  drawn  ; 

And  dark  thoughts  fade  away  in  grace, 
Like  cloud-spots  in  the  dawn. 

71 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

I  often  see  in  my  own  thoughts, 
When  they  lie  nearest  Thee, 

That  the  worst  men  I  ever  knew 
Were  better  men  than  me. 

And  of  all  truths  no  other  truth 

So  true  as  this  one  seems ; 
While  others'  faults  that  plainest  were 

Grow  indistinct  as  dreams. 

All  men  look  good  except  ourselves, 
All  but  ourselves  are  great ; 

The  rays  that  make  our  sins  so  clear, 
Their  faults  obliterate. 

Things,  that  appeared  undoubted  sins, 
Wear  little  crowns  of  light ; 

Their  dark,  remaining  darkness,  still 
Shames  and  outshines  our  bright. 

Time  was,  when  I  believed  that  wrong 

In  others  to  detect, 
Was  part  of  Genius,  and  a  gift 

To  cherish,  not  reject. 

72 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Now,  better  taught  by  Thee,  O  Lord  ! 

This  truth  dawns  on  my  mind,  — 
The  best  effect  of  heavenly  light 

Is  earth's  false  eyes  to  blind. 

Thou  art  the  Unapproached,  whose  height 

Enables  Thee  to  stoop, 
Whose  Holiness  bends  undefiled 

To  handle  hearts  that  droop. 

He,  whom  no  praise  can  reach,  is  aye 
Men's  least  attempts  approving ; 

Whom  justice  makes  all-merciful, 
Omniscience  makes  all-loving. 

How  Thou  canst  think  so  well  of  us, 

Yet  be  the  God  Thou  art, 
Is  darkness  to  my  intellect, 

But  sunshine  to  my  heart. 

Yet  habits  linger  in  the  soul ; 

More  grace,  O  Lord  !  more  grace  ! 
More  sweetness  from  Thy  loving  Heart ! 

More  sunshine  from  Thy  face  ! 

73 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

When  we  ourselves  least  kindly  are, 

We  deem  the  world  unkind ; 
Dark  hearts,  in  flowers  where  honey  lies, 

Only  the  poison  find. 

We  paint  from  self  the  evil  things 

We  think  that  others  are  ; 
While  to  the  self-despising  soul 

All  things  but  self  are  fair. 

Yes,  they  have  caught  the  way  of  God, 

To  whom  self  lies  displayed 
In  such  clear  vision  as  to  cast 

O'er  others'  faults  a  shade. 

A  bright  horizon  out  at  sea 

Obscures  the  distant  ships ; 
Rough  hearts  look  smooth  and  beautiful 

In  charity's  eclipse. 

Love's  changeful  mood  our  neighbor's  faults 

O'erwhelms  with  burning  ray, 
And  in  excess  of  splendor  hides 

What  is  not  burned  away. 

74 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Again  with  truth  like  God's  it  shades 
Harsh  things  with  untrue  light, 

Like  moons  that  make  a  fairy-land 
Of  fallow  fields  at  night. 

Then  mercy,  Lord  !  more  mercy  still ! 

Make  me  all  light  within, 
Self-hating  and  compassionate, 

And  blind  to  others'  sin. 

I  need  Thy  mercy  for  my  sin  ; 

But  more  than  this  I  need,  — 
Thy  mercy's  likeness  in  my  soul 

For  others'  sins  to  bleed. 

'Tis  not  enough  to  weep  my  sins  ; 

'Tis  but  one  step  to  Heaven  : 
When  I  am  kind  to  others,  then 

I  know  myself  forgiven. 

Would  that  my  soul  might  be  a  world 

Of  golden  ether  bright, 
A  Heaven  where  other  souls  might  float, 

Like  all  Thy  worlds,  in  light ! 

75 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

All  bitterness  is  from  ourselves , 
All  sweetness  is  from  Thee ; 

Sweet  God  !  for  evermore,  be  Thou 
Fountain  and  tire  in  me  ! 


76 


PERFECTION. 


H  how  the  thought  of  God  attracts 
And  draws  the  heart  from  earth, 
And  sickens  it  of  passing  shows 
And  dissipating  mirth  ! 


'Tis  not  enough  to  save  our  souls, 

To  shun  the  eternal  fires ; 
The  thought  of  God  will  rouse  the  heart 

To  more  sublime  desires. 


God  only  is  the  creature's  home  ; 

Though  rough  and  strait  the  road, 
Yet  nothing  less  can  satisfy 

The  love  that  longs  for  God. 


77 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Oh,  utter  but  the  name  of  God 
Down  in  your  heart  of  hearts, 

And  see  how  from  the  world  at  once 
All  tempting  light  departs. 

A  trusting  heart,  a  yearning  eye, 

Can  win  their  way  above ; 
If  mountains  can  be  moved  by  faith, 

Is  there  less  power  in  Love? 

How  little  of  that  road,  my  soul ! 

How  little  hast  thou  gone  ! 
Take  heart,  and  let  the  thought  of  God 

Allure  thee  further  on. 

The  freedom  from  all  wilful  sin, 
The  Christian's  daily  task, — 

Oh,  these  are  graces  far  below 
What  longing  love  would  ask  ! 

Dole  not  thy  duties  out  to  God, 

But  let  thy  hand  be  free  ; 
Look  long  at  Jesus  ;  His  sweet  blood, 

How  was  it  dealt  to  Thee  ? 

78 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

The  perfect  way  is  hard  to  flesh  ; 

It  is  not  hard  to  love  ; 
If  thou  wert  sick  for  want  of  God, 

How  swiftly  wouldst  thou  move  ! 

Be  docile  to  thine  unseen  Guide, 
Love  Him  as  He  loves  thee ; 

Time  and  obedience  are  enough, 
And  thou  a  saint  shalt  be. 


79 


DISTRACTIONS    IN   PRAYER. 


H,  dearest  Lord  !  I  cannot  pray  ; 
My  fancy  is  not  free ; 
Unmannerly  distractions  come, 

And  force  my  thoughts  from  Thee. 


The  world  that  looks  so  dull  all  day 
Glows  bright  on  me  at  prayer, 

And  plans  that  ask  no  thought  but  then 
Wake  up  and  meet  me  there. 


All  nature  one  full  fountain  seems 

Of  dreamy  sight  and  sound, 
Which,  when  I  kneel,  breaks  up  its  deeps, 
And  makes  a  deluge  round. 
So 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Old  voices  murmur  in  my  ear, 

New  hopes  start  into  life, 
And  past  and  future  gayly  blend 

In  one  bewitching  strife. 

My  very  flesh  has  restless  fits ; 

My  changeful  limbs  conspire 
With  all  these  phantoms  of  the  mind 

My  inner  self  to  tire. 

I  cannot  pray  ;  yet,  Lord  !  Thou  know'st 

The  pain  it  is  to  me 
To  have  my  vainly  struggling  thoughts 

Thus  torn  away  from  Thee. 

Sweet  Jesus  !  teach  me  how  to  prize 

These  tedious  hours  when  I, 
Foolish  and  mute,  before  Thy  face 

In  helpless  wwship  lie. 

Prayer  was  not  meant  for  luxury, 

Or  selfish  pastime  sweet ; 
It  is  the  prostrate  creature's  place 

At  his  Creator's  feet. 

f  Si 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Had  I  kept  stricter  watch  each  hour 

O'er  tongue  and  eye  and  ear, 
Had  I  but  mortified  all  day 

Each  joy  as  it  came  near, 

Had  I,  dear  Lord  !  no  pleasure  found 

But  in  the  thought  of  Thee, 
Prayer  would  have  come  unsought,  and  been 

A  truer  liberty. 

Yet  Thou  art  oft  most  present,  Lord  ! 

In  weak,  distracted  prayer; 
A  sinner  out  of  heart  with  self 

Most  often  finds  Thee  there. 

For  prayer  that  humbles,  sets  the  soul 

From  all  illusions  free, 
And  teaches  it  how  utterly, 

Dear  Lord  !  it  hangs  on  Thee  ! 

The  heart  that  on  self-sacrifice 

Is  covetously  bent, 
Will  bless  Thy  chastening  hand,  that  makes 

Its  prayer  its  punishment. 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

My  Saviour  !  why  should  I  complain, 
And  why  fear  aught  but  sin  ? 

Distractions  are  but  outward  things  ; 
Thy  peace  dwells  far  within. 

These  surface  troubles  come  and  go, 

Like  rufflings  of  the  sea  ; 
The  deeper  depth  is  out  of  reach 

To  all,  my  God,  but  Thee. 


33 


DRYNESS   IN   PRAYER. 


H  for  the  happy  days  gone  by, 

When  love  ran  smooth  and  free, 
Days  when  my  spirit  so  enjoyed 
More  than  earth's  liberty  ! 


Oh  for  the  times  when  on  my  heart 
Long  prayer  hath  never  palled, 

Times  when  the  ready  thought  of  God 
Would  come  when  it  was  called  ! 


Then,  when  I  knelt  to  meditate, 
Sweet  thoughts  came  o'er  my  soul, 

Countless  and  bright  and  beautiful, 
Beyond  my  own  control. 

84 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

What  can  have  locked  those  fountains  up  ? 

Those  visions  what  hath  staved? 
What  sudden  act  hath  thus  transformed 

My  sunshine  into  shade? 

This  freezing  heart,  O  Lord  !  this  will, 

Dry  as  the  desert  sand, 
Good  thoughts  that  will  not  come,  bad  thoughts 

That  come  without  command, — 

A  faith  that  seems  not  faith,  a  hope 

That  cares  not  for  its  aim, 
A  love  that  none  the  hotter  grows 

At  Thy  most  blessed  Name,  — 

The  weariness  of  prayer,  the  mist 

O'er  conscience  overspread, 
The  chill  repugnance  to  frequent 

The  feast  of  Angels'  bread,  — 

The  torment  of  unsettled  thoughts 

That  cannot  fix  on  Thee, 
And  in  the  dread  confessional, 

Hard,  cold  fidelity  :  — 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

If  this  dear  change  be  Thine,  O  Lord  ! 

If  it  be  Thy  sweet  will, 
Spare  not,  but  to  the  very  brim 

The  bitter  chalice  fill. 

But  if  it  hath  been  a  sin  of  mine, 

Then  show  that  sin  to  me, 
Not  to  get  back  my  sweetness  lost, 

But  to  make  peace  with  Thee. 

One  thing  alone,  dear  Lord  !  I  dread  ; 

To  have  a  secret  spot 
That  separates  my  soul  from  Thee, 

And  yet  to  know  it  not. 

For  when  the  tide  of  graces  set 

So  full  upon  my  heart, 
I  know,  dear  Lord  !  how  faithlessly 

I  did  my  little  part. 

I  know  how  well  my  heart  hath  earned 

A  chastisement  like  this, 
In  trifling  many  a  grace  away 

In  self-complacent  bliss. 
86 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

But  if  this  weariness  hath  come 

A  present  from  on  high, 
Teach  me  to  find  the  hidden  wealth 

That  in  its  depths  may  lie. 

So  in  this  darkness  I  may  learn 

To  tremble  and  adore, 
To  sound  my  own  vile  nothingness, 

And  thus  to  love  Thee  more. 

To  love  Thee,  and  yet  not  to  think 
That  I  can  love  so  much, — 

To  have  Thee  with  me,  Lord  !  all  day, 
Yet  not  to  feel  Thy  touch. 

If  I  have  served  Thee,  Lord  !  for  hire, 
Hire  which  Thy  beauty  showed, 

Can  I  not  serve  Thee  now  for  naught 
And  only  as  my  God? 

Thrice  blessed  be  this  darkness  then, 

This  deep  in  which  I  lie, 
And  blessed  be  all  things  that  teach 

God's  dear  supremacy  ! 

S7 


LOW   SPIRITS. 


*|EVER,  and  fret,  and  aimless  stir, 
And  disappointed  strife, 
All  chafing  unsuccessful  things, 
Make  up  the  sum  of  life. 


Love  adds  anxiety  to  toil, 
And  sameness  doubles  cares, 

While  one  unbroken  chain  of  work 
The  flagging  temper  wears. 


The  light  and  air  are  dulled  with  smoke  ; 

The  streets  resound  with  noise  ; 
And  the  soul  sinks  to  see  its  peers 

Chasing  their  joyless  joys. 

SS 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Voices  are  round  me  ;  smiles  are  near  ; 

Kind  welcomes  to  be  had  ; 
And  vet  my  spirit  is  alone, 

Fretful,  outworn,  and  sad. 

A  weary  actor,  I  would  fain 

Be  quit  of  my  long  part ; 
The  burden  of  unquiet  life 

Lies  heavy  on  my  heart. 

Sweet  thought  of  God  !  now  do  thy  work 

As  thou  hast  done  before  ; 
Wake  up,  and  tears  will  wake  with  thee, 

And  the  dull  mood  be  o'er. 

The  very  thinking  of  the  thought, 

Without  or  praise  or  prayer, 
Gives  light  to  know,  and  life  to  do, 

And  marvellous  strength  to  bear. 

Oh,  there  is  music  in  that  thought 

Unto  a  heart  unstrung, 
Like  sweet  bells  at  the  evening  time 

Most  musicallv  rung. 

89 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

'Tis  not  His  justice  or  His  power, 

Beauty  or  blest  abode, 
But  the  mere  unexpanded  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  God. 

It  is  not  of  His  wondrous  works, 

Nor  even  that  He  is ; 
Words  fail  it,  but  it  is  a  thought 

Which  by  itself  is  bliss. 

Sweet  thought !  lie  closer  to  my  heart 

That  I  may  feel  thee  near, 
As  one  wrho  for  his  weapon  feels 

In  some  nocturnal  fear. 

Mostly  in  hours  of  gloom  thou  com'st 
When  sadness  makes  us  lowly, 

As  though  thou  wert  the  echo  sweet 
Of  humble  melancholy. 

I  bless  Thee,  Lord  !  for  this  kind  check 

To  spirits  over  free, 
And  for  all  things  that  make  me  feel 

More  helpless  need  of  Thee. 
90 


TRUE   LOVE. 


HIXK  well  how  Jesus  trusts  Himself 
Unto  our  childish  love, 
As  though  by  His  free  ways  with  us 
Our  earnestness  to  prove. 


God  gives  Himself  as  Mary's  babe 
To  sinners'  trembling  arms, 

And  veils  His  everlasting  light 
In  childhood's  feeble  charms. 


His  sacred  name  a  common  word 
On  earth  He  loves  to  hear ; 

There  is  no  majesty  in  Him 

Which  Love  may  not  come  near. 


91 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

His  priests,  they  bear  Him  in  their  hands, 

Helpless  as  babes  can  be  ; 
His  love  seems  very  foolishness 

For  its  simplicity. 

The  light  of  love  is  round  His  feet, 

His  paths  are  never  dim ; 
And  He  comes  nigh  to  us,  when  we 

Dare  not  come  nigh  to  Him. 

Let  us  be  simple  with  Him  then, 

Not  backward,  stiff',  or  cold, 
As  though  our  Bethlehem  could  be 

What  Sina  was  of  old. 

His  love  of  us  may  teach  us  how 

To  love  Him  in  return  ; 
Love  cannot  help  but  grow  more  free 

The  more  its  transports  burn. 

The  solemn  face,  the  downcast  eye, 

The  words  constrained  and  cold,  — 
These  are  the  homage,  poor  at  best, 
Of  those  outside  the  fold. 
92 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

They  know  not  how  our  God  can  play 
The  Babe's,  the  Brother's,  part; 

They  dream  not  of  the  ways  He  has 
Of  getting  at  tne  heart. 

Most  winningly  He  lowers  Himself, 

Yet  they  dare  not  come  near ; 
They  cannot  know  in  their  blind  place 

The  love  that  casts  out  fear. 

In  lowest  depths  of  littleness 

God  sinks  to  gain  our  love  ; 
They  put  away  the  sign  in  fear, 

And  our  free  ways  reprove. 

Would  that  they  knew  what  Jesus  was, 

And  what  untold  abyss 
Lies  in  love's  simple  forwardness 

Of  more  than  earthly  bliss  ! 

Would  that  they  knew  what  faith  could  work, 

What  sacraments  can  do  ; 
What  simple  love  is  like,  on  fire 

In  hearts  absolved  and  true  ! 

93 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

They  cannot  tell  how  Jesus  oft 

His  secret  thirst  will  slake 
On  those  strange  freedoms  childlike  hearts 

Are  taught  by  God  to  take. 

Poor  souls  !  they  know  not  how  to  love  ; 

They  feel  not  Jesus  near ; 
And  they  who  know  not  how  to  love 

Still  less  know  how  to  fear. 

The  humbling  of  the  Incarnate  Word 

They  have  not  faith  to  face ; 
And  how  shall  they  who  have  not  faith 

Attain  love's  better  grace  ? 

The  awe  that  lies  too  deep  for  words, 
Too  deep  for  solemn  looks, — 

It  finds  no  way  into  the  face, 
No  written  vent  in  books. 

They  would  not  speak  in  measured  tones, 

If  love  had  in  them  wrought 
Until  their  spirits  had  been  hushed 

In  reverential  thought. 
94 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

They  would  have  smiled  in  harmless  ways 

To  ease  their  fevered  heart, 
And  learned  with  other  simple  souls 

To  play  love's  crafty  part. 

They  would  have  run  away  from  God 

For  their  own  vileness'  sake, 
And  feared  lest  some  interior  light 

From  tell-tale  eyes  should  break. 

They  know  not  how  the  outward  smile 

The  inward  awe  can  prove  ; 
They  fathom  not  the  creature's  fear 

Of  uncreated  love. 

The  majesty  of  God  ne'er  broke 

On  them  like  fire  at  night, 
Flooding  their  stricken  souls,  while  they 

La}'  trembling  in  the  light. 

They  love  not :  for  they  have  not  kissed 

The  Saviour's  outer  hem  ! 
They  fear  not :  for  the  living  God 

Is  yet  unknown  to  them. 

95 


DESIRE   OF   GOD. 


IH  for  freedom,  for  freedom  in  worshipping 
God, 
For  the  mountain-top  feeling  of  generous 
souls, 
For  the  health,  for  the  air,  of  the  hearts  deep  and 

broad, 
Where  grace  not  in  rills,  but  in  cataracts,  rolls  ! 


Most  good  is  the  brisk,  wholesome  service  of  fear, 
And  the  calm,  wise  obedience  of  conscience  is  sweet ; 
And  good  are  all  worships,  all  loyalties  dear, 
All  promptitudes  fitting,  all  services  meet. 
96 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

But  none  honors  God  like  the  thirst  of  desire, 
Nor  possesses  the  heart  so  completely  with  Him  ; 
For  it  burns  the  world  out  with  the  swift  ease  of  fire. 
And  fills  life  with  good  works  till  it  runs  o'er  the 
brim. 

Then  pray  for  desire,  for  love's  wTistfullest  yearning, 
For  the  beautiful  pining  of  holy  desire  ; 
Yes,  pray  for  a  soul  that  is  ceaselessly  burning 
With  the  soft  fragrant  flames  of  this  thrice  happy 
fire. 

For  the  heart  only  dwells,  truly  dwells,  with  its 
treasure, 

And  the  languor  of  love  captive  hearts  can  unfetter  ; 

And  they  who  love  God  cannot  love  Him  by  meas- 
ure, 

For  their  love  is  but  hunger  to  love  Him  still  better. 

For  the  lack  of  desire  is  the  ill  of  all  ills  ; 

Many  thousands  through  it  the  dark  pathway  have 

trod  ; 
The  balsam,  the  wine  of  predestinate  wills 
Is  a  jubilant  pining  and  longing  for  God. 

g  97 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

'Tis  a  tire  that  will  burn  what  thou  canst  not  pass 

over ; 
'Tis  a  lightning  that  breaks  away  all  bars  to  love  ; 
'Tis  a  sunbeam  the  secrets  of  God  to  discover ; 
'Tis  the  wing  David  prayed  for,  the  wing  of  the 

Dove. 

I    have    seen    living    men,  and   their    good    angels 

know 
How  they  failed  and  fell  short  through  the  want  of 

desire ; 
Souls  once  almost  saints  have  descended  so  low 
'Twill   be  much  if  their  wings  bear  them  over  the 

fire. 

I  have  seen  dying  men  not  so  grand  in  their  dying 

As  our  love  would  have  wished,  —  and  through  lack 
of  desire  ; 

Oh  that  we  may  die  languishing,  burning,  and  sigh- 
ing ; 

For  God's  last  grace  and  best  is,  to  die  all  on  fire. 

Then  wish  more  for  God,  burn  more  with  desire, 
Covet  more  the  dear  sight  of  His  marvellous  face  ; 

98 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Pray  louder,  pray  long,  for  the  sweet  gift  of  fire 
To  come  down  on  thy  heart  with  its  whirlwinds  of 
grace. 

Yes,  pine  for  thy  God,  fainting  soul  !  ever  pine  ; 
Oh,  languish  'mid  all  that  life  gives  thee  of  mirth  : 
Famished,  thirsty,  and   restless,  —  let   such   life   be 

thine,  — 
For  what  sight  is  to  heaven,  desire  is  to  earth. 

God  loves  to  be  longed  for,  He  loves  to  be  sought. 
For  He  sought  us  Himself  with  such  longing  and 

love  ; 
He  died  for  desire  of  us,  marvellous  thought ! 
And  He  yearns  for  us  now  to  be  with  Him  above. 


99 


THE   GIFTS    OF   GOD. 


Y  soul  !  what  hast  thou  done  for  God  ? 
Look  o'er  thy  misspent  years  and  see  : 
Sum  up  what  thou  hast  done  for  God, 
And  then  what  God  hath  done  for  thee. 


He  made  thee  when  He  might  have  made 
A  soul  that  would  have  loved  Him  more  ; 
He  rescued  thee  from  nothingness, 
And  set  thee  on  life's  happy  shore. 


He  placed  an  angel  at  thy  side, 
And  strewed  joys  round  thee  on  thy  way ; 
He  gave  thee  rights  thou  couldst  not  claim, 
And  life,  free  life,  before  thee  lay. 


ioo 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Had  God  in  heaven  no  work  to  do, 
But  miracles  of  love  for  thee  ? 
No  world  to  rule,  no  joy  in  Self, 
And  in  His  own  infinity?  — 

So  must  it  seem  to  our  blind  eyes  ; 
He  gave  His  love  no  sabbath  rest, 
Still  plotting  happiness  for  men, 
And  newT  designs  to  make  them  blest. 

From  out  His  glorious  bosom  came 
His  only,  His  eternal  Son ; 
He  freed  the  race  of  Satan's  slaves, 
And  with  His  blood  sin's  captives  won. 

The  world  rose  up  against  His  love  ; 
New  love  the  vile  rebellion  met, 
As  though  God  only  looked  at  sin 
Its  guilt  to  pardon  and  forget. 

For  His  Eternal  Spirit  came 
To  raise  the  thankless  slaves  to  sons, 
And  with  the  sevenfold  gifts  of  love 
To  crown  His  own  elected  ones. 

101 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Men  spurned  His  grace ;  their  lips  blasphemed 
The  Love  who  made  Himself  their  slave  ; 
They  grieved  that  blessed  Comforter, 
And  turned  against  Him  what  He  gave. 

Yet  still  the  sun  is  fair  by  day, 
The  moon  still  beautiful  by  night ; 
The  wrorld  goes  round,  and  joy  with  it, 
And  life,  free  life,  is  men's  delight. 

No  voice  God's  wondrous  silence  breaks, 
No  hand  put  forth  His  anger  tells ; 
But  He,  the  Omnipotent  and  dread, 
On  high  in  humblest  patience  dwells. 

The  Son  hath  come ;  and  maddened  sin 
The  world's  Creator  crucified  ; 
The  Spirit  comes  and  stays  while  men 
His  presence  doubt,  His  gifts  deride. 

And  now  the  Father  keeps  Himself 
In  patient  and  forbearing  love, 
To  be  His  creature's  heritage 
In  that  undying  life  above. 

102 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Oh  wonderful,  oh  passing  thought !  — 
The  love  that  God  hath  had  for  thee, 
Spending  on  thee  no  less  a  sum 
Than  th^  undivided  Trinity  ! 

Father  and  Son  and  Holy  Ghost 
Exhausted  for  a  thing  like  this,  — 
The  world's  whole  government  disposed 
For  one  ungrateful  creature's  bliss  ! 

What  hast  thou  done  for  God,  my  soul? 
Look  o'er  thy  misspent  years  and  see  ; 
Cry  from  thy  worse  than  nothingness, 
Cry  for  His  mercy  upon  thee. 


103 


THE   RIGHT   MUST   WIN. 


H  it  is  hard  to  work  for  God, 
To  rise  and  take  His  part 
Upon  this  battle-field  of  earth, 
And  not  sometimes  lose  heart ! 


He  hides  Himself  so  wondrously, 
As  though  there  were  no  God ; 

He  is  least  seen  when  all  the  powers 
Of  ill  are  most  abroad. 


Or  He  deserts  us  at  the  hour 
The  fight  is  all  but  lost ; 

And  seems  to  leave  us  to  ourselves 
Just  when  we  need  Him  most. 
104 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Yes.  there  is  less  to  try  our  faith, 

In  our  mysterious  creed, 
Than  in  the  godless  look  of  earth 

In  these  our  hours  of  need. 

Ill  masters  good,  good  seems  to  change 

To  ill  with  greatest  ease  ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  the  good  with  good 

Is  at  cross  purposes. 

The  Church,  the  sacraments,  the  Faith. 

Their  up-hill  journey  take. 
Lose  here  what  there  they  gain,  and,  if 

We  lean  upon  them,  break. 

It  is  not  so,  but  so  it  looks  : 

And  we  lose  courage  then  ; 
And  doubts  will  come  if  God  hath  kept 

His  promises  to  men. 

Ah  !  God  is  other  than  wTe  think  ; 

His  ways  are  far  above, 
Far  beyond  reason's  height,  and  reached 

Only  by  childlike  love. 

105 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

The  look,  the  fashion,  of  God's  ways 

Love's  lifelong  study  are  ; 
She  can  be  bold,  and  guess,  and  act 

When  reason  would  not  dare. 

She  has  a  prudence  of  her  own  ; 

Her  step  is  firm  and  free  ; 
Yet  there  is  cautious  science  too 

In  her  simplicity. 

Workman  of  God  !  oh,  lose  not  heart, 
But  learn  what  God  is  like, 

And  in  the  darkest  battle-field 

Thou  shalt  know  where  to  strike. 

Thrice  blest  is  he  to  whom  is  given 

The  instinct  that  can  tell 
That  God  is  on  the  field  when  He 

Is  most  invisible. 

Blest  too  is  he  who  can  divine 

Where  real  right  doth  lie, 
And  dares  to  take  the  side  that  seems 

Wrong  to  man's  blindfold  eye. 
1 06 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

Then  learn  to  scorn  the  praise  of  men, 
And  learn  to  lose  with  God  ; 

For  Jesus  won  the  world  through  shame 
And  beckons  thee  His  road. 

God's  glory  is  a  wondrous  thing, 
Most  strange  in  all  its  ways, 

And,  of  all  things  on  earth,  least  like 
What  men  agree  to  praise. 

As  He  can  endless  glory  weave 
From  what  men  reckon  shame, 

In  His  own  world  He  is  content 
To  play  a  losing  game. 

Muse  on  His  justice,  downcast  soul ; 

Muse,  and  take  better  heart ; 
Back  with  thine  angel  to  the  field, 

And  bravely  do  thy  part. 

God's  justice  is  a  bed  where  we 
Our  anxious  hearts  may  lav, 

And,  weary  with  ourselves,  may  sleep 
Our  discontent  away. 

107 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    CLOSET. 

For  right  is  right,  since  God  is  God  : 
And  right  the  day  must  win  ; 

To  doubt  would  be  disloyalty, 
To  falter  wrould  be  sin. 


1 08 


II. 


HYMNS    FOR   THE   BEREAVED. 


^^-t-^p^*-*--^ 


IO9 


A   CHILD'S    DEATH. 


|HOU  touchest  us  lightly,  O  God  !  in  our 
grief: 
But  how  rough  is  Thy  touch  in  our  pros- 
perous hours  ! 
All  was  bright,  but  Thou  earnest,  so  dreadful  and 

brief, 
Like  a  thunderbolt  falling  in  gardens  of  flowers. 


My  children  !  my  children  !  they  clustered  all  round 

me, 
Like    a    rampart  which   sorrow  could  never  break 

through  ; 
Each  change  in  their  beautiful  lives  only  bound  me 
In  a  spell  of  delight  which  no  care  could  undo. 
1 10 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

But  the  eldest !  O  Father  !   how  glorious  he  was, 
With  the  soul  looking  out  through  his  fountain-like 

eves  ! 
Thou  lovest  Thy  Sole-born  !   and  had  I  not  cause 
The  treasure  Thou  gavest  me,  Father  !  to  prize?  — 

But  the  Lily-bed  lies  beaten  down  by  the  rain, 
And   the   tallest  is   gone  from  the  place  where  he 

grew  ; 
My  tallest !  my  fairest !     Oh,  let  me  complain  : 
For    all    life    is    unroofed,    and    the    tempests    beat 

through. 

I  murmur  not,  Father  !  my  will  is  with  Thee  ; 
I  knew  at  the  first  that  my  darling  was  Thine  : 
Hadst  Thou  taken  him  earlier,  O  Father  !  —  but  see  ! 
Thou  hadst  left  him  so  long  that  I  dreamed  he  was 
mine. 

Thou  hast  taken  the  fairest :  he  was  fairest  to  me  ; 
Thou  hast  taken  the  fairest :  'tis  always  Thv  way  : 
Thou   hast  taken   the   dearest :    was   he   dearest  to 

Thee? 
Thou  art  welcome,  thrice  welcome  :  —  yet  woe  is  the 

day  : 

1 1 1 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

Thou  hast  honored  my  child  by  the  speed  of  Thy 

choice, 
Thou   hast   crowned  him  with  glory,  o'erwhelmed 

him  with  mirth ; 
He    sings    up    in    heaven  with   his   sweet-sounding 

voice, 
While  I,  a  saint's  mother,  am  weeping  on  earth. 

Yet   oh   for   that  voice,  which   is   thrilling   through 

heaven, 
One  moment  my  ears  with  its  music  to  slake  ! 
Oh  no  !  not  for  wTorlds  would  I  have  him  re-given,. 
Yet  I  long  to  have  back  what  I  wrould  not  re-take. 

I  grudge  him,  and  grudge  him  not !    Father  !  Thou 

knowest 
The  foolish  confusions  of  innocent  sorrow  ; 
It    is    thus    in    Thy    husbandry,    Saviour  !     Thou 

sowest 
The  grief  of  to-day,  for  the  grace  of  to-morrow. 

Thou    art   blooming    in    heaven,    my  blossom,   my 

Pride  ! 
And  thy  beauty  makes  Jesus  and  Mary  more  glad  ; 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

Saints'   mothers   have  sung  when  their  eldest-born 

died  ; 
Oh,  why,  my  own  saint !   is  thy  mother  so  sad?  — 

Go,  go  with  thy  God,  with  thy  Saviour,  my  child  ! 
Thou  art  His  ;  I  am  His  ;  and  thy  sisters  are  His  ; 
But  to-day  thy  fond  mother  with  sorrow  is  wild, — 
To  think  that  her  son  is  an  angel  in  bliss  ! 

Oh  forgive  me,  dear  Saviour  !    on  heaven's  bright 

shore 
Should  I  still  in  my  child  find  a  separate  joy  : 
While  I  lie  in  the  light  of  Thy  face  evermore, 
May  I  think  heaven  brighter  because  of  my  boy?  — 


1 1 


"3 


AFTER  A   DEATH. 


HE  grief  that  was  delayed  so  long, 
O  Lord  !  hath  come  at  last ; 
Blest  be  Thy  name  for  present  pain, 
And  for  the  weary  past ! 


Yet,  Father !  I  have  looked  so  long 

Upon  the  coming  grief, 
That  what  should  grieve  my  heart  the  most 

Seems  almost  like  relief. 


Alas  !  then,  did  I  love  the  dead 
As  well  as  he  loved  me  ? 

Or  have  I  sought  myself  alone 
Rather  than  him  or  Thee?  — 
114 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

To  fear  is  harder  than  to  weep  ; 

To  watch,  than  to  endure  ; 
The  hardest  of  all  griefs  to  bear 

Is  a  grief  that  is  not  sure. 

As  on  a  watch-tower  did  I  stand, 
Like  one  that  looks  in  fear, 

And  sees  an  overwhelming  host 
O'er  hill  and  dale  draw  near. 

The  bitterness  each  day  brought  forth 
Was  more  than  I  could  bear, 

And  hope's  uncertainty  was  worse 
Than  positive  despair. 

I  grew  more  unprepared  for  grief 
Which  had  so  long  been  stayed ; 

The  blow  seemed  more  impossible, 
The  more  it  was  delayed. 

Yes  !  the  most  sudden  of  our  griefs 
Are  those  which  travel  slow  ; 

The  longer  warning  that  it  gives, 
The  deeper  is  our  woe. 

"5 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

To  look  a  sorrow  in  the  face 

False  magnitude  imparts ; 
All  sorrows  look  immensely  large 

Unto  our  little  hearts. 

But  to  look  long  upon  a  grief 

Which  is  so  long  in  sight 
Unmans  the  heart  more  terribly 
Than  a  sudden  death  at  night. 

A  swift  and  unexpected  blow, 

If  hard  to  bear,  is  brief; 
But  oh  !  it  is  less  sudden  far 

Than  a  quiet  creeping  grief. 

Least  griefs  are  more  than  we  can  bear, 
Each  worse  than  those  before  ; 

Our  own  griefs  always  greater  griefs 
Than  those  our  fathers  bore. 

The  griefs  we  have  to  bear  alone, 
The  griefs  that  we  can  share. 

Our  single  griefs,  our  crowded  griefs, 
Which  are  the  worst  to  bear? — 

116 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

Yet  all  are  less  than  our  deserts  ; 

Within  our  grace  they  lie  ; 
The  sorrows  we  exaggerate 

We  cannot  sanctity. 

Dear  Lord  !  in  all  our  loneliest  pains 

Thou  hast  the  largest  share ; 
And  that  which  is  unbearable, 

'Tis  Thine,  not  ours,  to  bear. 

How  merciful  Thine  anger  is, 

How  tender  it  can  be, 
How  wonderful  all  sorrows  are 

Which  come  direct  from  Thee  ! 

Years  fly,  O  Lord  !  and  every  year 

More  desolate  I  grow ; 
My  world  of  friends  thins  round  me  fast, 

Love  after  love  lies  low. 

There  are  fresh  gaps  around  the  hearth, 

Old  places  left  unfilled, 
And  young  lives  quenched  before  the  old, 

And  the  love  of  old  hearts  chilled. 

117 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

Dear  voices  and  dear  faces  missed. 
Sweet  households  overthrown ; 

And  what  is  left,  more  sad  to  see 
Than  the  sight  of  what  has  gone. 

All  this  is  to  be  sanctified, 
This  rupture  with  the  past ; 

For  thus  we  die  before  our  deaths, 
And  so  die  well  at  last. 


118 


THE    HOUSE   OF   MOURNING. 


LOOM  gathered  round  us  every  hour 
In  that  house  of  awful  sorrow  ; 
Each  day  lay  darker  and  more  dark 
In  the  shadow  of  its  morrow. 


And  yet  no  cloud  that  came  passed  on  ; 

No  yesterdays  went  by  ; 
Twas  a  storm  that  gathers  without  wind, 

Until  it  chokes  the  skv. 


Time  hungered  for  some  dreadful  change, 

And  yet  grew  sick  with  fear, 
Impatient  at  the  slow  approach 

Of  that  which  was  too  near. 

119 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

But  we  never  named  what  most  we  feared ; 

It  was  only  understood  ; 
And  we  lived  on  an  unspoken  faith 

That  somehow  God  was  good. 

Yes  !  God  was  good  ;  on  that  one  thought 
The  whole  day  we  were  leaning  ; 

Yet  we  dared  not  put  it  into  words, 
Lest  it  should  lose  its  meaning. 

Of  many  things,  of  many  wants, 

We  had  to  be  reminded ; 
We  felt  our  way  about  the  house 

Like  men  that  had  been  blinded. 

We  scarce  breathed  any  thing  but  grief; 

We  almost  held  our  breath ; 
We  were  inwardly  unmanned  and  numbed 

With  the  looking  out  for  death. 

Each  told  to  each  what  each  well  knew, 

Each  told  it  o'er  and  o'er ; 
Questions  we  asked  which  we  ourselves 

Had  answered  just  before. 

1 20 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

From  its  intensity  of  aim, 

Our  whole  life  aimless  seemed  ; 

The  very  stern  reality 

Made  us  almost  think  we  dreamed. 

The  days  could  somehow  drag  themselves 

Like  wounded  worms  along ; 
But  I  know  not  how  we  lived  those  nights, 

Save  that  God  made  us  strong. 

And  somehow  all  things  turned  to  fears  ; 

And  foolish  things  became 
Fountains  of  unrefreshing  tears  , 

Which  burned  the  eyes  like  flame. 

Oh  what  a  life  it  wras,  a  life  — 

Of  such  entangled  woe, 
Like  the  panic  of  a  shipwrecked  crew, — 

Only  this  was  so  slow  :  — 

Entangled  with  minute  details, 

Needful,  but  out  of  season, 
Yet  a  wroe  of  such  simplicity 

As  almost  troubled  reason. 

121 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

God  shut  us  up  there  seven  long  weeks 

As  in  some  unworldly  ark, 
And  we  learned  what  He  had  meant  us  learn, 

To  live,  and  to  see  in  the  dark. 

Darkness  is  easier  far  to  bear 

Than  that  unrestful  gloom, 
Where  the  light  snows  in,  and  vaguely  haunts 

The  shapes  and  the  things  in  the  room. 

One  of  those  darknesses  was  this, 

In  which  God  loves  to  dwell, 
One  of  those  restful  silences 

In  which  He  is  audible. 

Slowly  light  came,  the  thinnest  dawn 

Not  sunshine,  to  our  night, 
A  new,  more  spiritual  thing, 

An  advent  of  pure  light. 

Perhaps  not  light ;  rather  the  soul 

Which  just  then  came  to  see, 
And  saw  through  its  world-darkened  life, 

And  saw  Eternity. 
1,22 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

0  God  !  it  was  a  time  divine, 
Rich  epoch  of  calm  grace, 

A  pressing  of  our  hearts  to  Thine 
In  mystical  embrace. 

The  work  of  years  was  done  in  days, 
Fights  won,  and  trophies  given  ; 

For  sorrow  is  the  atmosphere 
Which  ripens  hearts  for  heaven. 

1  saw  dear  souls  with  seemliest  haste 

Array  themselves  in  light, 
And  weave  themselves  angelic  robes 
Out  of  the  utter  night. 

Eternal  thoughts  in  simplest  words 
Fell  meekly  from  their  tongue, 

While  the  fragrance  of  eternity 
To  their  silent  presence  clung. 

For  month-like  days,  for  year-like  nights, 

I  saw  all  this  about  me  : 
It  should  have  been  my  work,  but  God 

Had  to  do  the  work  without  me. 

123 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

I  only  saw  how  I  had  missed 

A  thousand  things  from  blindness, 

How  all  that  I  had  done  appeared 
Scarce  better  than  unkindness, 

How  that  to  comfort  those  that  mourn 

Is  a  thing  for  saints  to  try  ; 
Yet  haply  God  might  have  done  less, 

Had  a  saint  been  there,  not  I. 

Alas  !  we  have  so  little  grace, 

With  love  so  little  burn, 
That  the  hardest  of  our  works  for  God 

Is  to  comfort  those  who  mourn. 


124 


DEEP   GRIEF. 


AYS,  weeks,  and  months  have  gone,   O 
Lord  ! 
They  seemed  both  long  and  brief; 
Yet  darker  still  the  darkness  grows, 
And  deeper  lies  the  grief. 


Thev  spoke  of  sorrow's  laws  and  ways, 
Thev  said  what  time  would  do  ; 

Wise-sounding  words  !  yet  have  they  been 
Most  bitterly  untrue. 


O  sorrow  !  'tis  thy  law  to  feed 
On  what  should  be  relief; 

O  time  !  of  all  things  surely  thou 
Art  cruellest  to  grief. 


12; 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

They  tell  me  I  am  better  now, 
That  tears  have  passed  away : 

Alas  !  those  earlier  days  of  tears 
Were  sunshine  to  to-day. 

The^ind  was  less  afraid  of  self, 

When  sorrow's  thoughts  grew  rank ; 

The  sights  and  sounds  of  recent  grief 
Were  better  than  this  blank. 

Old  grief  is  worse  than  new :  its  pain 

Is  deeper  in  the  heart ; 
The  dull  blind  ache  is  worse  to  bear 

Than  blow,  or  wound,  or  smart. 

Deeper  and  deeper  in  my  soul 
The  weight  of  grief  is  stealing, 

And,  strange  to  say,  I  feel  it  more 
When  it  has  sunk  past  feeling. 

O  grief!  when  thou  wert  fresh  and  sharp, 

Part  of  life  felt  thy  blow ; 
But,  grown  the  habit  of  my  heart, 

Thou  art  my  whole  life  now. 

126 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

Most  sovereign  when  least  sensible, 
Most  seen  when  out  of  sight, 

Thou  art  the  custom  of  the  day. 
And  the  haunting  of  the  ni^ht. 

Oh  that  they  would  not  comfort  me  ! 

Deep  grief  cannot  be  reached ; 
Wisdom,  to  cure  a  broken  heart, 

Must  not  be  wisdom  preached. 

Deep  grief  is  better  let  alone  ; 

Voices  to  it  are  swords  ; 
A  silent  look  will  soothe  it  more 

Than  the  tenderness  of  words. 

Oh,  speak  not !  I  will  do  my  work, 
Nay,  more  work  than  my  share  ; 

For  to  feel  that  it  is  idle  grief 
Is  what  deep  grief  cannot  bear. 

Deep  grief  is  not  a  past  event : 

It  is  a  life,  a  state, 
Which  habit  makes  more  terrible, 

And  age  more  desolate. 

127 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

But  am  I  comfortless?     Oh,  no  ! 

Jesus  this  pathway  trod ; 
And  deeper  in  my  soul  than  grief 

Art  Thou  !  my  dearest  God  ! 

Good  is  that  darkening  of  our  lives, 
Which  only  God  can  brighten  ; 

But  better  still  that  hopeless  load, 
Which  none  but  God  can  lighten. 


128 


THE   MEMORY   OF   THE   DEAD. 


[H  it  is  sweet  to  think 

Of  those  that  are  departed, 
While  murmured  Aves  sink 

To  silence  tender-hearted, 

While  tears  that  have  no  pain 

Are  tranquilly  distilling, 

And  the  dead  live  again 

In  hearts  that  love  is  filling. 


Yet  not  as  in  the  days 

Of  earthly  ties  we  love  them  ; 

For  they  are  touched  with  rays 

From  light  that  is  above  them  ; 

i 


129 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

Another  sweetness  shines 
Around  their  well-known  features 
God  with  His  glory  signs 
His  dearly  ransomed  creatures. 


Yes,  they  are  more  our  own 
Since  now  they  are  God's  only ; 
And  each  one  that  has  gone 
Has  left  our  heart  less  lonely. 
He  mourns  not  seasons  fled, 
Who  now  in  Him  possesses 
Treasures  of  many  dead, 
In  their  dear  Lord's  caresses. 


Dear  dead  !  they  have  become 
Like  guardian  angels  to  us  ; 
And  distant  heaven,  like  home, 
Through  them  begins  to  woo  us  ; 
Love  that  was  earthly  wings 
Its  flight  to  holier  places  ; 
The  dead  are  sacred  things, 
That  multiply  our  graces. 
130 


HYMNS    FOR    THE    BEREAVED. 

They  whom  we  loved  on  earth 
Attract  us  now  to  heaven  ; 
Who  shared  our  grief  and  mirth 
Back  to  us  now  are  given. 
They  move  with  noiseless  foot 
Gravely  and  sweetly  round  us, 
And  their  soft  touch  hath  cut 
Full  many  a  chain  that  bound  us. 

O  dearest  dead  !  to  Heaven 

With  grudging  sighs  we  gave  you, 

To  Him  !  be  doubts  forgiven  ! 

Who  took  you  there  to  save  you  !  — 

Now  get  us  grace  to  love 

Your  memories  yet  more  kindly, 

Pine  for  our  homes  above, 

And  trust  to  God  more  blindly. 


*3l 


III. 


THE   LAST   THINGS. 


i33 


THE   PILGRIMS    OF   THE   NIGHT. 


jJARK  !  hark  !  my  soul !  angelic  songs  are 
swelling 
O'er  earth's  green  fields   and  ocean's 
wave-beat  shore  ; 
How  sweet  the  truth  those  blessed  strains  are  telling 
Of  that  new  life  when  sin  shall  be  no  more. 


Darker  than  night  life's  shadows  fall  around  us, 
And,  like  benighted  men,  we  miss  our  mark  ; 

God  hides  Himself,  and  grace  hath  scarcely  found  us, 
Ere  death  finds  out  his  victims  in  the  dark. 


Onward  we  go,  for  still  we  hear  them  singing, 
Come,  weary  souls  !  for  Jesus  bids  you  come  ! 

And  through  the  dark,  its  echoes  sweetly  ringing, 
The  music  of  the  Gospel  leads  us  home. 

*35 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Far,  far  away,  like  bells  at  evening  pealing, 
The  voice  of  Jesus  sounds  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  laden  souls,  by  thousands  meekly  stealing, 
Kind  Shepherd  !  turn  their  weary  steps  to  Thee. 

Rest    comes    at   length ;    though    life  be   long   and 
dreary, 
The  day  must  dawn,  and  darksome  night  be  past ; 
All  journeys  end  in  welcomes  to  the  weary, 

And  heaven,  the  heart's  true  home,  will  come  at 
last. 

Cheer  up,  my  soul !  faith's  moonbeams  softly  glisten 
Upon  the  breast  of  life's  most  troubled  sea ; 

x\nd  it  will  cheer  thy  drooping  heart  to  listen 

To  those  brave  songs  which  angels  mean  for  thee. 

Angels  !  sing  on,  your  faithful  wratches  keeping  ; 

Sing  us  sweet  fragments  of  the  songs  above ; 
While  we  toil  on,  and  soothe  ourselves  with  weeping, 

Till  life's  long  night  shall  break  in  endless  love. 


136 


HOW   GENTLY   FLOW   THE    SILENT 
YEARS ! " 


OW  gently  flow  the  silent  years, 
The  seasons  one  by  one  ! 
How  sweet  to  feel,  each  month  that  goes, 
That  life  must  soon  be  done  ! 


O  weary  ways  of  earth  and  men  ! 

O  self  more  weary  still ! 
How  vainly  do  you  vex  the  heart 

That  none  but  God  can  fill ! 


It  is  not  weariness  of  life 

That  makes  us  wish  to  die ; 
But  we  are  drawn  by  cords  which  come 

From  out  eternity. 

*37 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Eye  has  not  seen,  ear  has  not  heard, 

No  heart  of  man  can  tell, 
The  store  of  joys  God  has  prepared 

For  those  who  love  Him  well. 

Oh,  may  those  joys  one  day  be  ours 

Upon  that  happy  shore  ! 
And  yet  those  joys  are  not  enough  : 

We  crave  for  something  more. 

The  world's  unkindness  grows  with  life, 

And  troubles  never  cease  ; 
'Twere  lawful  then  to  wish  to  die, 

Simply  to  be  at  peace. 

Yes  !  peace  is  something  more  than  joy, 

Even  the  joys  above  ; 
For  peace,  of  all  created  things, 

Is  likest  Him  we  love. 

But  not  for  joy,  nor  yet  for  peace, 

Dare  we  desire  to  die  : 
God's  will  on  earth  is  always  joy, 

Always  tranquillity. 
13S 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 


To  die,  that  we  might  sin  no  more, 
Were  scarce  a  hero's  prayer  ; 

And  glory  grows  as  grace  matures, 
And  patience  loves  to  bear. 


And  yet  we  long  and  long  to  die, 

We  covet  to  be  free ; 
Not  for  Thy  great  rewards,  O  God  ! 

Not  for  Thy  peace  —  but  Thee  ! 

Ah  leave  us,  then,  at  peace,  to  greet 
Each  waxing,  waning  moon, 

Whose  silver  light  seems  aye  to  say- 
Soon,  exile  spirit !  soon  ! 


*39 


WISHES   ABOUT   DEATH. 


WISH  to  have  no  wishes  left, 

But  to  leave  all  to  Thee ; 
And  yet  I  wish  that  Thou  shouldst  will 

Things  that  I  wish  should  be.  • 


And  these  two  wills  I  feel  within, 
When  on  my  death  I  muse  ; 

But,  Lord  !  I  have  a  death  to  die, 
And  not  a  death  to  choose. 


Why  should  I  choose?  for  in  Thy  love 

Most  surely  I  descry 
A  gentler  death  than  I  myself 

Should  dare  to  ask  to  die. 
140 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

But  Thou  wilt  not  disdain  to  hear 

What  those  few  wishes  are, 
Which  I  abandon  to  Thy  love, 

And  to  Thy  wiser  care. 

Triumphant  death  I  would  not  ask, 

Rather  would  deprecate  ; 
For  dying  souls  deceive  themselves 

Soonest  when  most  elate. 

All  graces  I  would  crave  to  have 

Calmly  absorbed  in  one, — 
A  perfect  sorrow  for  my  sins, 

And  duties  left  undone. 

I  would  the  light  of  reason,  Lord  ! 

Up  to  the  last  might  shine, 
That  my  own  hands  misrht  hold  mv  soul 

Until  it  passed  to  Thine. 

And  I  would  pass  in  silence,  Lord  ! 

No  brave  words  on  my  lips, 
Lest  pride  should  cloud  my  soul,  and  I 

Should  die  in  the  eclipse. 

I41 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

But  when,  and  where,  and  by  what  pain 

All  this  is  one  to  me  ; 
I  only  long  for  such  a  death 

As  most  shall  honor  Thee. 

Long  life  dismays  me,  by  the  sense 
Of  my  own  weakness  scared ; 

And  by  Thy  grace  a  sudden  death 
Need  not  be  unprepared. 

One  wish  is  hard  to  be  unwished, — 

That  I  at  last  might  die 
Of  grief  for  having  wronged  with  sin 

Thy  spotless  Majesty. 


%m$wi 


mvmBsma 


142 


z y^  \\  %§g^  Jjfc& J 


THE   PATHS    OF   DEATH. 


OW  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Like  the  bright  slanting  west, 
Thou  leadest  down  into  the  glow 
Where  all  those  heaven-bound  sunsets  go, 

Ever  from  toil  to  rest. 


How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Back  to  our  own  dear  dead 
Into  that  land  which  hides  in  tombs 
The  better  part  of  our  old  homes  ; 

'Tis  there  thou  mak'st  our  bed. 

x43 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Thither  where  sorrows  cease, 
To  a  new  life,  to  an  old  past, 
Softly  and  silently  we  haste, 

Into  a  land  of  peace. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Thy  new  restores  our  lost ; 
There  are  voices  of  the  new  times 
With  the  ringing  of  the  old  chimes 

Blent  sweetly  on  thy  coast. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

One  faint  for  want  of  breath,  — 
And  above  thy  promise  thou  hast  given  ; 
All,  we  find  more  than  all  in  heaven, 

O  thou  truth-speaking  Death  ! 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

E'en  children  after  play 
Lie  down,  without  the  least  alarm, 
And  sleep,  in  thy  maternal  arm, 

Their  little  life  away. 
144 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

E'en  grown-up  men  secure 
Better  manhood,  by  a  brave  leap 
Through  the  chill  mist  of  thy  thin  sleep, 

Manhood  that  will  endure. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

The  old,  the  very  old, 
Smile  when  their  slumberous  eye  grows  dim, 
Smile  when  they  feel  thee  touch  each  limb  ; 

Their  age  was  not  less  cold. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Ever  from  pain  to  ease  ; 
Patience  that  hath  held  on  for  years, 
Never  unlearns  her  humble  fears 

Of  terrible  disease. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

From  sin  to  pleasing  God  ; 
For  the  pardoned  in  thy  land  are  bright 
As  innocence  in  robe  of  white, 

And  walk  on  the  same  road. 

145 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Straight  to  our  Father's  Home  ; 
All  loss  were  gain  that  gained  us  this, 
The  sight  of  God,  that  single  bliss 

Of  the  grand  world  to  come. 

How  pleasant  are  thy  paths,  O  Death  ! 

Ever  from  toil  to  rest,  — 
Where  a  rim  of  sea-like  splendor  runs, 
Where  the  days  bury  their  golden  suns, 

In  the  dear  hopeful  west ! 


146 


THE   LENGTH   OF   DEATH. 


WEET  Saviour  !  take  me  by  the  hand. 
And  lead  me  through  the  gloom  : 
Oh  it  seems  far  to  the  other  land. 
And  dark  in  the  silent  tomb  ! 


I  thought  it  was  less  hard  to  die, 
A  straighter  road  to  Thee, 

With  at  least  a  twilight  in  the  sky, 
And  one  narrow  arm  of  sea. 


Saviour  !  what  means  this  breadth  of  death. 

This  space  before  me  lying, 
These  deeps  where  life  so  lingereth, 

This  difficulty  of  dying?  — 

Hi 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

So  many  turns,  abrupt  and  rude, 

Such  ever-shifting  grounds, 
Such  a  strangely  peopled  solitude, 

Such  strangely  silent  sounds  ? 

Another  hour  !  what  change  of  pain 

In  this  last  act  doth  lie  ! 
Surely  to  live  life  o'er  again 

Were  less  prolix  than  to  die. 

How  carefully  Thou  walkest,  Lord  ! 

Canst  Thou  have  cause  to  fear? 
Who  is  that  spirit  with  the  sword? 

Art  Thou  not  master  here  ?  — 

Whom  are  we  trying  to  avoid? 

From  whom,  Lord  !  must  we  hide? 
Oh,  can  the  dying  be  decoyed, 

With  his  Saviour  by  his  side?  — 

Deeper  !  —  dark  !  dark  !  but  yet  I  follow 
Tighten,  dear  Lord  !  Thy  clasp  ! 

How  suddenly  earth  seems  to  hollow ! 
There  is  nothing  left  to  grasp  ! 
148 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

I  cannot  feel  Thee  ;  art  Thou  near? 

It  is  all  too  dark  to  see  ; 
But  let  me  feel  Thee,  Saviour  dear  ! 

I  can  go  on  with  Thee. 

What  speed  !  how  icy-smooth  these  stones  ! 

Oh,  might  we  make  less  haste? 
How  the  caves  echo  back  my  moans 

From  some  invisible  waste  ! 

May  we  not  rest,  dear  Help?  oh,  no, 

Not  on  a  road  so  steep  ! 
Sweet  Saviour  !  have  we  far  to  go? 

Ah,  how  I  long  for  sleep  ! 

Loose  sand  —  and  all  things  sinking  !     Hark, 

The  murmur  of  a  sea  ! 
Saviour  !  it  is  intensely  dark  ; 

Is  it  near  Eternity? 

Can  I  fall  from  Thee,  even  now? 

Both  hands,  dear  Lord  !  both  hands  ! 
Why  dost  thou  lie  so  deep,  so  low, 

Thou  shore  of  the  Happy  Lands? 

'49 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Ah  !  death  is  very,  very  wide, 

A  land  terrible  and  dry  : 
If  Thou,  sweet  Saviour  !  hadst  not  died, 

Who  would  have  dared  to  die  ? 

Another  fall !  surely  we  steal 

On  towards  eternity  !  — 
Lord  !   is  this  death  ?  —  I  only  feel 

Down  in  some  sea  with  Thee. 


fvH^8 


150 


THE   ETERNAL  YEARS. 


OW  shalt  thou  bear  the  Cross  that  now 
So  dread  a  weight  appears? 
Keep  quietly  to  God,  and  think 
Upon  the  Eternal  years. 


Austerity  is  little  help, 

Although  it  somewhat  cheers  ; 
Thine  oil  of  gladness  is  the  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  years. 


Set  hours  and  written  rules  are  good, 
Long  prayer  can  lay  our  fears  ; 

But  it  is  better  calm  for  thee 
To  count  the  Eternal  years. 


i^i 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Rites  are  as  balm  unto  the  eyes, 
God's  word  unto  the  ears ; 

But  He  will  have  thee  rather  brood 
Upon  the  Eternal  years. 

Full  many  things  are  good  for  souls 
In  proper  times  and  spheres ; 

Thy  present  good  is  in  the  thought 
Of  the  Eternal  years. 

Thy  self-upbraiding  is  a  snare, 
Though  meekness  it  appears  ; 

More  humbling  is  it  far  for  thee 
To  face  the  Eternal  years. 

Brave  quiet  is  the  thing  for  thee, 
Chiding  thy  scrupulous  fears  ; 

Learn  to  be  real,  from  the  thought 
Of  the  Eternal  years. 

Bear  gently,  suffer  like  a  child, 

Nor  be  ashamed  of  tears  ; 
Kiss  the  sweet  cross,  and  in  thy  heart 

Sing  of  the  Eternal  years. 
152 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Thv  Cross  is  quite  enough  for  thee, 

Though  little  it  appears  ; 
For  there  is  hid  in  it  the  weight 

Of  the  Eternal  years. 

And  knowest  thou  not  how  bitterness 

An  ailing  spirit  cheers? 
Thy  medicine  is  the  strengthening  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  years. 

One  cross  can  sanctify  a  soul ; 

Late  saints  and  ancient  seers 
Were  what  they  were,  because  they  mused 

Upon  the  Eternal  years. 

Pass  not  from  flower  to  pretty  flower ; 

Time  flies,  and  judgment  nears  ; 
Go  !  make  thy  honey  from  the  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  years. 

Death  will  have  rainbows  round  it  seen 
Through  calm  contritions'  tears, 

If  tranquil  hope  but  trims  her  lamp 
At  the  Eternal  years. 

T53 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Keep  unconstrain'dly  in  this  thought 
Thy  loves,  hopes,  smiles,  and  tears  ; 

Such  prison-house  thine  heart  will  make 
Free  of  the  Eternal  years. 

A  single  practice,  long  sustained, 

A  soul  to  God  endears ; 
This  must  be  thine,  to  weigh  the  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  years. 

He  practises  all  virtue  well 

Who  his  own  cross  reveres, 
And  lives  in  the  familiar  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  years. 


154 


FROM   "THE   SHORE   OF   ETERNITY." 


LONE  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore  ! 
With  no  one  sight  that  we  have  seen  be- 
fore, — 
Things  of  a  different  hue, 
And  the  sounds  all  new, 
And  fragrances  so  sweet  the  soul  may  faint. 
Alone  !     Oh,  that  first  hour  of  being  a  saint ! 


Alone  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore  ! 

On  which  no  wavelets  lisp,  no  billows  roar, 

Perhaps  no  shape  of  ground, 

Perhaps  no  sight  or  sound, 
No  forms  of  earth  our  fancies  to  arrange, — 


But  to  be^in  alone  that  mighty  chancre  ! 


'55 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

Alone  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore  ! 
Knowing  so  well  we  can  return  no  more ; 

No  voice  or  face  of  friend, 

None  with  us  to  attend 
Our  disembarking  on  that  awful  strand, 
But  to  arrive  alone  in  such  a  land  ! 

Alone  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore  ! 
To  begin  alone  to  live  forevermore, 

To  have  no  one  to  teach 

The  manners  or  the  speech 
Of  that  new  life,  or  put  us  at  our  ease  ;  — 
Oh  that  we  might  die  in  pairs  or  companies  ! 

Alone?  the  God  we  know  is  on  that  shore, 
The  God  of  whose  attractions  we  know  more 

Than  of  those  who  may  appear 

Nearest  and  dearest  here  ; 
Oh,  is  He  not  the  life-long  Friend  we  know 
More  privately  than  any  friend  below?  — 

Alone?  the  God  we  trust  is  on  that  shore, 
The  Faithful  One  whom  we  have  trusted  more 

156 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

In  trials  and  in  woes 

Than  we  have  trusted  those 
On  whom  we  leaned  most  in  our  earthly  strife  — 
Oh,  we  shall  trust  Him  more  in  that  new  life  ! 

Alone?  the  God  we  love  is  on  that  shore, 
Love  not  enough,  yet  whom  we  love  far  more, 

And  whom  we  loved  all  through 

And  with  a  love  more  true 
Than  other  loves — yet  now  shall  love  Him  more 
True  love  of  Him  begins  upon  that  shore  ! 

So  not  alone  we  land  upon  that  shore  ; 

Twill  be  as  though  we  had  been  there  before  ; 

We  shall  meet  more  we  know 

Than  we  can  meet  below, 
And  find  our  rest  like  some  returning  dove, 
And  be  at  home  at  once  with  our  Eternal  love  ! 


157 


THE   LAND   BEYOND   THE   SEA. 


|HE  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

When  will  life's  task  be  o'er? 
When  shall  we  reach  that  soft  blue  shore, 
O'er  the  dark  strait  whose  billows  foam  and  roar? 
When  shall  we  come  to  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea? 


The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
How  close  it  often  seems, 
When  flushed  with  evening's  peaceful  gleams ; 
And  the  wistful  heart  looks  o'er  the  strait  and  dreams  ! 
It  longs  to  fly  to  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea ! 

153 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
Sometimes  distinct  and  near 
It  grows  upon  the  eye  and  ear, 
And  the  gulf  narrows  to  a  threadlike  mere  ; 
We  seem  half  way  to  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
Sometimes  across  the  strait, 
Like  a  drawbridge  to  a  castle-gate, 
The  slanting  sunbeams  lie,  and  seem  to  wait 
For  us  to  pass  to  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
Oh,  how  the  lapsing  years, 
'Mid  our  not  unsubmissive  tears, 
Have  borne,  now  singly,  now  in  fleets,  the  biers 
Of  those  we  love,  to  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
How  dark  our  present  home  ! 
By  the  dull  beach  and  sullen  foam 
How  wearily,  how  drearily,  we  roam, 

*59 


THE    LAST    THINGS. 

With  arms  outstretched  to  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
When  will  our  toil  be  done  ? 
Slow-footed  years  !  more  swiftly  run 
Into  the  gold  of  that  unsetting  sun  ! 
Homesick  we  are  for  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
Why  fadest  thou  in  light? 
Why  art  thou  better  seen  towards  night? 
Dear  land !  look  always  plain,  look  always  bright, 
That  we  may  gaze  on  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 

The  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 
Sweet  is  thine  endless  rest, 
But  sweeter  far  that  Father's  breast 
Upon  thy  shores  eternally  possest ; 
For  Jesus  reigns  o'er  thee, 
Calm  land  beyond  the  Sea  ! 


1 60 


^^  K3 


IV. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


-TUB 


161 


THE   STARRY   SKIES. 


HE  starry  skies,  they  rest  mv  soul, 
Its  chains  of  care  unbind, 
And  with  the  dew  of  cooling  thoughts 
Refresh  my  sultry  mind. 


And,  like  a  bird  amidst  the  boughs, 

I  rest,  and  sing,  and  rest, 
Among  those  bright  disseyered  worlds, 

As  safe  as  in  a  nest. 


And  oft  I  think  the  starry  sprays 
Swing  with  me  where  I  light, 

While  brighter  branches  lure  me  o'er 
New  gulfs  of  purple  night. 

163 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Yes,  something  draws  me  upward  there, 

As  morning  draws  the  lark ; 
Only  my  spell,  whatever  it  is, 

Works  better  in  the  dark. 

It  is  as  if  a  home  was  there,  — 
To  which  my  soul  was  turning, 

A  home  not  seen,  but  nightly  proved 
By  a  mysterious  yearning. 

It  seems  as  if  no  actual  space 

Could  hold  it  in  its  bond ; 
Thought  climbs  its  highest,  still  it  is 

Always  beyond,  beyond. 

Earth  never  seems  like  home,  though  fresh 

And  full  its  tide  of  mirth  ; 
No  glorious  change  we  can  conceive 

Would  make  a  home  of  earth. 

But  God  alone  can  be  a  home ; 

And  His  sweet  Vision  lies 
Somewhere  in  that  soft  gloom  concealed, 

Beyond  the  starry  skies. 

164 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

So,  as  if  waiting  for  a  voice, 

Nightly  I  gaze  and  sigh, 
While  the  stars  look  at  me  silently 

Out  of  their  silent  sky. 

How  have  I  erred  !     God  is  my  home, 

And  God  Himself  is  here  ; 
Why  have  I  looked  so  far  for  Him 

Who  is  nowhere  but  near? 

Oh,  not  in  distant  starry  skies, 

In  vastness  not  abroad, 
But  everywhere  in  His  whole  self 

Abides  the  whole  of  God. 

In  golden  presence  not  diffused, 
Xot  in  vague  fields  of  bliss, 

But  whole  in  every  present  point 
The  Godhead  simply  is. 

Down  in  earth's  duskiest  vales  where'er 

My  pilgrimage  may  be, 
Thou,  Lord  !  wilt  be  a  ready  home. 

Always  at  hand  for  me. 

165 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  spake  ;  but  God  was  nowhere  seen ; 

Was  His  love  too  tired  to  wait? 
Ah,  no  !  my  own  unsimple  love 

Hath  often  made  me  late. 

How  often  things  already  won 

It  urges  me  to  win, 
How  often  makes  me  look  outside 

For  that  which  is  within  ! 

Our  souls  go  too  much  out  of  self 

Into  ways  dark  and  dim  : 
'Tis  rather  God  who  seeks  for  us, 

Than  we  who  seek  for  Him. 

Yet  surely  through  my  tears  I  saw 

God  softly  drawing  near ; 
How  came  He,  without  sight  or  sound, 

So  soon  to  disappear? 

God  was  not  gone  :  but  He  so  longed 

His  sweetness  to  impart, 
He  too  was  seeking  for  a  home, 

And  found  it  in  my  heart. 
1 66 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Twice  had  I  erred  :   a  distant  God 
Was  what  I  could  not  bear ; 

Sorrows  and  cares  were  at  my  side  ; 
I  longed  to  have  Him  there. 

But  God  is  never  so  far  off 

As  even  to  be  near ; 
He  is  within  ;  our  spirit  is 

The  home  He  holds  most  dear. 

To  think  of  Him  as  by  our  side 

Is  almost  as  untrue, 
As  to  remove  His  throne  beyond 

Those  skies  of  starry  blue. 

So  all  the  while  I  thought  myself 
Homeless,  forlorn,  and  weary  ; 

Missing  my  joy,  I  walked  the  earth, 
Myself  God's  sanctuary. 


167 


THE  CREATION  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


WW 

N  pulses  deep  of  threefold  love, 

Self  hushed,  and  self  possessed, 
The  mighty,  unbeginning  God 
Had  lived  in  silent  rest. 

With  His  own  greatness  all  alone, 
The  sight  of  self  had  been 

Beauty  of  beauties,  joy  of  joys, 
Before  His  eye  serene. 


He  lay  before  Himself  and  gazed, 
As  ravished  with  the  sight, 

Brooding  on  His  own  attributes 
With  dread,  untold  delight. 
1 68 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Xo  ties  were  on  His  bliss,  for  He 

Had  neither  end  nor  cause  ; 
For  His  own  glory  'twas  enough 

That  He  was  what  He  was. 

His  glory  was  full  grown  ;   His  light 
Had  owned  no  dawning  dim  ; 

His  love  did  not  outgrow  Himself, 
For  nought  could  grow  in  Him. 

He  stirred  —  and  yet  we  know  not  how 
Nor  wherefore  He  should  move  ; 

In  our  poor  human  words,  it  was 
An  overflow  of  love. 

It  was  the  first  outspoken  word 
That  broke  that  peace  sublime, 

An  outflow  of  eternal  love 
Into  the  lap  of  time. 

He  stirred  ;  and  beauty  all  at  once 
Forth  from  His  being  broke  ; 

Spirit  and  strength,  and  living  life, 
Created  things,  awoke. 

169 


MISCELLANEOUS . 

Order  and  multitude  and  light 

In  beauteous  showers  outstreamed ; 

And  realms  of  newly  fashioned  space 
With  radiant  angels  beamed. 

How  wonderful  is  life  in  heaven 

Amid  the  angelic  choirs, 
Where  uncreated  love  has  crowned 

His  first  created  fires  ! 

But  see  !  new  marvels  gather  there  : 

The  wisdom  of  the  Son 
With  heaven's  completest  wonder  ends 

The  work  so  well  begun. 


170 


THE   SORROWFUL   WORLD. 


HEARD  the  wild  beasts   in  the  woods 

complain  ; 
Some    slept,   while    others    wakened   to 
sustain 

Through  night  and  day  the  sad,  monotonous  round, 
Half  savage  and  half  pitiful  the  sound. 

The  outcry  rose  to  God  through  all  the  air, 
The  worship  of  distress,  an  animal  prayer, 
Loud  vehement  pleadings,  not  unlike  to  those 
Job  uttered  in  his  agony  of  woes. 


The  very  pauses,  when  they  came,  were  rife 
With  sickening  sounds  of  too  successful  strife, 
As,  when  the  clash  of  battle  dies  away. 
The  groans  of  night  succeed  the  shrieks  of  day 


171 


MISCELLANEOUS . 

Man's  scent  the  untamed  creatures  scarce  can  bear, 

As  if  his  tainted  blood  defiled  the  air  ; 

In  the  vast  woods  they  fret  as  in  a  cage, 

Or  fly  in  fear,  or  gnash  their  teeth  with  rage. 

The  beasts  of  burden  linger  on  their  way, 
Like  slaves  who  will  not  speak  when  they  obey  ; 
Their  faces,  when  they  look  to  us,  they  raise, 
With  something  of  reproachful  patience  gaze. 

All  creatures  round  us  seem  to  disapprove ; 
Their  eyes  discomfort  us  with  lack  of  love  ; 
Our  very  rights,  with  signs  like  these  alloyed, 
Not  without  sad  misgivings  are  enjoyed. 

Earth  seems  to  make  a  sound  in  places  lone, 
Sleeps  through  the  day,  but  wakes  at  night  to  moan, 
Shunning  our  confidence,  as  if  we  were 
A  guilty  burden  it  could  hardly  bear. 

The  winds  can  never  sing,  but  they  must  wail ; 
Waters  lift  up  sad  voices  in  the  vale  ; 
One  mountain  hollow  to  another  calls 
With  broken  cries  of  plaining  waterfalls. 

172 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Silence  itself  is  but  a  heaviness, 
As  if  the  earth  were  fainting  in  distress, 
Like  one  who  wakes  at  night  in  panic  fears, 
And  naught  but  his  own  beating  pulses  hears. 

Inanimate  things  can  rise  into  despair ; 
And  when  the  thunder  bellows  in  the  air, 
Amid  the  mountains,  earth  sends  forth  a  cry, 
Like  dying  monsters  in  their  agony. 

The  sea,  unmated  creature,  tired  and  lone, 
Makes  on  its  desolate  sands  eternal  moan  : 
Lakes  on  the  calmest  days  are  ever  throbbing- 
Upon  their  pebbly  shores  with  petulant  sobbing. 

O'er  the  white  wraste  cold  grimly  overawes 
And  hushes  life  beneath  its  merciless  laws  ; 
Invisible  heat  drops  dowTn  from  tropic  skies, 
And  o'er  the  land  like  an  oppression  lies. 

The  clouds  in  heaven  their  placid  motions  borrow 
From  the  funereal  tread  of  men  in  sorrow  ; 
Or,  when  they  scud  across  the  stormy  day, 
Mimic  the  flight  of  hosts  in  disarray. 

'73 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Mostly  men's  many-featured  faces  wear 
Looks  of  fixed  gloom,  or  else  of  restless  care ; 
The  very  babes  that  in  their  cradles  lie, 
Out  of  the  depths  of  unknown  troubles  cry. 

Labor  itself  is  but  a  sorrowful  song, 

The  protest  of  the  weak  against  the  strong ; 

Over  rough  wraters,  and  in  obstinate  fields, 

And  from  dark  mines,  the  same  sad  sound  it  yields. 

O  God  !  the  fountain  of  perennial  gladness  ! 
Thy  whole  creation  overflows  with  sadness ; 
Sights,  sounds,  are  full  of  sorrow  and  alarm; 
Even  sweet  scents  have  but  a  pensive  charm. 

Doth  earth  send  nothing  up  to  Thee  but  moans? 
Father  !   canst  Thou  find  melody  in  groans  ? 
Oh,  can  it  be,  that  Thou,  the  God  of  bliss, 
Canst  feed  Thy  glory  on  a  world  like  this  ? 

Ah  me  !  that  sin  should  have  such  chemic  power 
To  turn  to  dross  the  gold  of  nature's  dower, 
And  straightway,  of  its  single  self,  unbind 
The  eternal  vision  of  Thy  jubilant  Mind. 
174 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Alas  !  of  all  this  sorrow  there  is  need  : 
For  us  Earth  weeps,  for  us  the  creatures  bleed; 
Thou  art  content,  if  all  this  woe  imparts 
The  sense  of  exile  to  repentant  hearts. 

Yes  !  it  is  well  for  us  ;  from  these  alarms, 
Like  children  scared,  we  fly  into  Thine  arms  ; 
And  pressing  sorrows  put  our  pride  to  rout 
With  a  swift  faith  which  has  not  time  to  doubt. 

We  cannot  herd  in  peace  with  wild  beasts  rude  ; 
We  dare  not  live  in  nature's  solitude  ; 
In  how  few  eyes  of  men  can  we  behold 
Enough  of  love  to  make  us  calm  and  bold? 

Oh  it  is  well  for  us  :  with  angry  glance 
Life  glares  at  us,  or  looks  at  us  askance  : 
Seek  where  we  will,  —  Father  !  we  see  it  now,  — 
None  love  us,  trust  us,  welcome  us,  but  Thou ! 


175 


MUSIC. 


HAT  music  breathes  all  through  my  spirit, 
As  the  breezes  blow  through  a  tree  ; 
And  my  soul  gives  light  as  it  quivers, 
Like  moons  on  a  tremulous  sea. 


New  passions  are  wakened  within  me, 
New  passions  that  have  not  a  name ; 

Dim  truths  that  I  knew  but  as  phantoms 
Stand  up  clear  and  bright  in  the  flame. 


And  my  soul  is  possessed  with  yearnings 
Which  make  my  life  broaden  and  swell ; 

And  I  hear  strange  things  that  are  soundless, 
And  I  see  the  invisible. 

,76 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

O  silence  that  clarion  in  mercy  — 

For  it  carries  my  soul  away ; 
And  it  whirls  my  thoughts  out  beyond  me, 

Like  the  leaves  on  an  autumn  day. 

0  exquisite  tyranny  !  silence,  — 

My  soul  slips  from  under  my  hand, 
And  as  if  bv  instinct  is  fleeing 
To  a  dread  unvisited  land. 

Is  it  sound  or  fragrance  or  vision? 

Vocal  light  wavering  down  from  above  ? 
Past  prayer  and  past  praise  I  am  floating 

Down  the  rapids  of  speechless  love. 

1  strove,  but  the  sweet  sounds  have  conquered  : 

Within  me  the  Past  is  awake  ; 
The  Present  is  grandly  transfigured  ; 
The  Future  is  clear  as  day-break. 

Now  Past,  Present,  Future,  have  mingled, 

A  new  sort  of  Present  to  make  : 
And  my  life  is  all  disembodied, 

Without  time,  without  space,  without  break. 
l  177 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  my  soul  seems  floating  for  ever 

In  an  orb  of  ravishing  sounds, 
Through  faint-falling  echoes  of  heavens 

'Mid  beautiful  earths  without  bounds. 

Now  sighing,  as  zephyrs  in  summer, 
The  concords  glide  in  like  a  stream, 

With  a  sound  that  is  almost  a  silence, 
Or  the  soundless  sounds  in  a  dream. 

Then  oft,  when  the  music  is  faintest, 
My  soul  has  a  storm  in  its  bowers, 

Like  the  thunder  among  the  mountains, 
Like  the  wind  in  the  abbey  towers. 

There  are  sounds,  like  flakes  of  snow  falling 
In  their  silent  and  eddying  rings ; 

We  tremble,  —  they  touch  us  so  lightly, 
Like  the  feathers  from  angels'  wings. 

There  are  pauses  of  marvellous  silence, 
That  are  full  of  significant  sound, 

Like  music  echoing  music 

Under  water,  or  under  ground. 

178 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

That  clarion  again  !  through  what  valleys 
Of  deep,  inward  life  did  it  roll, 

Ere  it  blew  that  astonishing  trumpet 
Right  down  in  the  caves  of  my  soul  ? 

My  mind  is  bewildered  with  echoes,  — 
Not  all  from  the  sweet  sounds  without ; 

But  spirits  are  answering  spirits 
In  a  beautiful  muffled  shout. 

O  cease  then,  wild  Horns  !  I  am  fainting ; 

If  ye  wail  so,  my  heart  will  break ; 
Some  one  speaks  to  me  in  your  speaking 

In  a  language  I  cannot  speak. 

Though  the  sounds  ye  make  are  all  foreign, 
How  native,  how  household,  they  are  ! 

The  tones  of  old  homes  mixed  with  heaven, 
The  dead  and  the  angels,  speak  there. 

Dear  voices,  that  long  have  been  silenced, 
Come  clear  from  their  peaceable  land, 

Come  toned  with  unspeakable  sweetness 
From  the  Presence  in  which  they  stand. 

x79 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Or  is  music  the  inarticulate 

Speech  of  the  angels  on  earth? 

Or  the  voice  of  the  undiscovered 
Bringing  great  truths  to  the  birth? 

O  music  !  thou  surely  art  worship ; 

But  thou  art  not  like  praise  or  prayer ; 
And  words  make  better  thanksgiving 

Than  thy  sweet  melodies  are. 

There  is  in  thee  another  worship, 
An  outflow  of  something  divine ; 

For  the  voice  of  adoring  silence, 
If  it  could  be  a  voice,  were  thine. 

Thou  art  fugitive  splendors  made  vocal 
As  they  glanced  from  that  shining  sea, 

Where  the  Vision  is  visible  music, 
Making  music  of  spirits  who  see. 

Thou,  Lord  !  art  the  Father  of  music  ; 

Sweet  sounds  are  a  whisper  from  Thee ; 
Thou  hast  made  Thy  creation  all  anthems, 

Though  it  singeth  them  silently. 
1 80 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  I  guess,  by  the  stir  of  this  music, 
What  raptures  in  heaven  can  be, 

Where  the  sound  is  Thy  marvellous  stillness, 
And  the  music  is  light  out  of  Thee. 


1S1 


THE   OLD   LABORER. 


HAT  end  doth  he  fulfil? 

He  seems  without  a  will, 
Stupid,  unhelpful,  helpless,  age-worn 
man  ! 
He  hath  let  the  years  pass, 
He  hath  toiled  and  heard  Mass, 
Done  what  he  could,  and  now  does  what  he  can. 


And  this  forsooth  is  all ; 
A  plant  or  animal 
Hath  a  more  positive  work  to  do  than  he  ; 
182 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Along  his  daily  beat, 
Delighting  in  the  heat, 
He  crawls  in  sunshine  which  he  does  not  see. 

What  doth  God  get  from  him  ? 

His  mind  is  very  dim, 
Too  weak  to  love,  and  too  obtuse  to  fear. 

Is  there  glory  in  his  strife  ? 

Is  there  meaning  in  his  life? 
Can  God  hold  such  a  thing-like  person  dear? 

Peace  !  he  is  dying  now  ; 

No  light  is  on  his  brow  ; 
He  makes  no  sign,  but  without  sign  departs. 

The  poor  die  often  so  — 

And  yet  they  long  to  go, 
To  take  to  God  their  overweighted  hearts. 

Born  only  to  endure, 

The  patient,  passive  poor 
Seem  useful  chiefly  by  their  multitude  ; 

For  they  are  men  who  keep 

Their  lives  secret  and  deep  ; 
Alas  !  the  poor  are  seldom  understood. 

183 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

This  laborer  that  is  gone 

Was  childless  and  alone, 
And  homeless  as  his  Saviour  was  before  him  ; 

He  told  in  no  man's  ear 

His  longing,  love,  or  fear, 
Nor  what  he  thought  of  life  as  it  passed  o'er  him. 

He  had  so  long  been  old, 

His  heart  was  close  and  cold ; 
He  had  no  love  to  take,  no  love  to  give  ; 

Men  almost  wished  him  dead  ; 

'Twas  best,  for  him  they  said ; 
'Twas  such  a  weary  sight  to  see  him  live. 

He  walked  with  painful  stoop, 

As  if  life  made  him  droop, 
And  care  had  fastened  fetters  round  his  feet ; 

He  saw  no  bright  blue  sky, 

Except  what  met  his  eye 
Reflected  from  the  rain-pools  in  the  street. 

To  whom  was  he  of  good? 
He  slept,  and  he  took  food  ; 
He  used  the  earth  and  air,  and  kindled  fire ; 
184 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

He  bore  to  take  relief 
Less  as  a  right  than  grief;  — 
To  what  might  such  a  soul  as  his  aspire? 

His  inexpressive  eye 

Peered  round  him  vacantly, 
As  if,  whate'er  he  did,  he  would  be  chidden  ; 

He  seemed  a  mere  growth  of  earth  ; 

Yet  even  he  had  mirth, 
As  the  great  angels  have,  untold  and  hidden. 

Alway  his  dowrncast  eye 

Was  laughing  silently, 
As  if  he  found  some  jubilee  in  thinking ; 

For  his  one  thought  was  God, 

In  that  thought  he  abode, 
For  ever  in  that  thought  more  deeply  sinking. 

Thus  did  he  live  his  life, 

A  kind  of  passive  strife, 
Upon  the  God  within  his  heart  relying ; 

Men  left  him  all  alone, 

Because  he  was  unknown, 
But  he  heard  the  angels  sing  when  he  was  dying. 

■85 


MISCELLANEOUS . 

God  judges  by  a  light, 

Which  baffles  mortal  sight, 
And  the  useless  seeming  man  the  crown  hath  won 

In  his  vast  world  above, 

A  world  of  broader  love, 
God  hath  some  grand  employment  for  his  Son. 


^^n 


186 


THE   SACRED    HEART. 


XCHAXGIXG  and  unchangeable, 
Befcre  angelic  eyes, 
The  vision  of  the  Godhead 
In  its  tranquil  beauty  lies  ; 
And,  like  a  city  lighted  up 

All  gloriously  within, 
Its  countless  lustres  glance  and  gleam, 

x\nd  sweetest  worship  win. 
On  the  unbegotten  Father, 

Awful  well-spring  of  the  Three, 
On  the  sole-begotten  Son's 

Co-equal  majesty, 
On  Him  eternally  breathed  forth 

From  Father  and  from  Son, 
The  spirits  gaze  with  fixed  amaze, 
And  unreckoned  ages  run. 

187 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Still  the  fountain  of  the  Godhead 

Giveth  forth  eternal  being  ;  — 
Still  begetting,  unbegotten, 

Still  His  own  perfection  seeing, 
Still  limiting  His  own  loved  self 

With  His  dear  co-equal  Spirit, 
No  change  comes  o'er  that  blissful  life, 

No  shadow  passeth  near  it. 
And  beautiful  dread  attributes, 

All  manifold  and  bright, 
Now  thousands  seem,  now  lose  themselves 

In  one  self-living  light ; 
And  far  in  that  deep  life  of  God, 

In  harmony  complete, 
Like  crowned  Kings,  all  opposite 

Perfections  take  their  seat. 

See  !  deep  within  the  glowing  depth 

Of  that  eternal  light, 
What  change  hath  come,  what  vision  new 

Transports  angelic  sight? 
A  creature  can  it  be, 

In  uncreated  bliss? 
A  novelty  in  God  ? 

Oh,  what  nameless  thing  is  this? 
The  beauty  of  the  Father's  powrer 
r  88 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Is  o'er  it  brightly  shed  ; 

The  sweetness  of  the  Spirit's  love 
Is  unction  on  its  head  ; 

In  the  wisdom  of  the  Son 
It  plays  its  wondrous  part ; 

While  it  lives  the  loving  life 
Df  a  real  human  heart ! 

A  heart  that  hath  a  Mother, 

And  a  treasure  of  red  blood ; 
A  heart  that  man  can  pray  to, 

And  feed  upon  for  food  ! 
In  the  brightness  of  the  Godhead 

Is  its  marvellous  abode, 
A  change  in  the  unchanging, 

Creation  touching  God  ! 
Ye  spirits  blest,  in  endless  rest, 

Who  on  that  vision  gaze, 
Salute  the  Sacred  Heart  with  all 

Your  worshipful  amaze  ! 
Adore,  while  with  ecstatic  skill 

The  Three  in  One  ye  scan, 
The  mercy  that  hath  planted  there 

That  blessed  heart  of  man  ! 

189 


FROM   "LIGHT   IN   DARKNESS.' 


Y  soul  lay  at  the  door  of  death, 
Anguish  and  dread  within ; 
For  all  I  had  and  all  I  was 
Seemed  nothing  then  but  sin. 
How  I  could  speak  I  cannot  tell ; 

How  I  could  dare  to  pray 
Seemed  wonderful ;  and  yet  my  heart 
To  Jesus  dared  to  say  ;  — 


Show  me  the  Father's  face,  O  Lord  ! 

This  was  my  venturous  cry, 
And  close  before  me,  as  I  prayed, 

Methought  Some  One  passed  by. 
190 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


The  space  of  one  swift  lightning's  flash 

Was  the  Majesty  outspread  ; 
Then  the  angels'  songs  the  silence  broke, 

And  the  glorious  darkness  fled. 


191 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   ROCK. 


HE  shadow  of  the  rock  ! 

Stay,  Pilgrim  !  stay  ! 
Night  treads  upon  the  heels  of  day 
There  is  no  other  resting-place  this  way. 
The  Rock  is  near, 
The  well  is  clear ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 


The  shadow  of  the  Rock ! 
The  desert  wide 
Lies  round  thee  like  a  trackless  tide, 
In  waves  of  sand  forlornly  multiplied. 
The  sun  is  gone, 
Thou  art  alone  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 
192 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
All  come  alone, 
All,  ever  since  the  Sun  hath  shone, 
Who  travelled  by  this  road  have  come  alone. 
Be  of  good  cheer, 
A  home  is  here  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
Night  veils  the  land  ; 
How  the  palms  whisper  as  they  stand  ! 
How  the  well  tinkles  faintly  through  the  sand  ! 
Cool  waters  take, 
Thy  thirst  to  slake  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 


The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 

Abide  !  abide  ! 

This  rock  moves  ever  at  thy  side, 

Pausing  to  welcome  thee  at  eventide. 

Ages  are  laid 

Beneath  its  shade  ; 

Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 

m  1 93 


MISCELLANEOUS . 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
Always  at  hand, 
Unseen  it  cools  the  noon-tide  land, 
And  quells  the  fire  that  flickers  in  the  sand. 
It  comes  in  sight 
Only  at  night ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
'Mid  skies  storm-riven, 
It  gathers  shadows  out  of  heaven, 
And  holds  them  o'er  us  all  night  cool  and  even. 
Through  the  charmed  air 
Dew  falls  not  there  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
To  angels'  eyes 
This  Rock  its  shadow  multiplies, 
And  at  this  hour  in  countless  places  lies. 
One  Rock,  one  Shade, 
O'er  thousands  laid ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 
194 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
To  weary  feet 
That  have  been  diligent  and  fleet, 
The  sleep  is  deeper,  and  the  shade  more  sweet. 
O  weary  !  rest, 
Thou  art  sore  pressed  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 


The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
Thy  bed  is  made  ; 
Crowds  of  tired  souls  like  thine  are  laid 
This  night  beneath  the  self-same  placid  shade. 
They  who  rest  here 
Wake  with  heaven  near  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 


The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
Pilgrim  !  sleep  sound  ; 
In  night's  swift  hours,  with  silent  bound, 
The  Rock  will  put  thee  over  leagues  of  ground, 
Gaining  more  way 
By  night  than  dav  ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 

*95 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  shadow  of  the  Rock  ! 
One  day  of  pain 
Thou  scarce  wilt  hope  the  Rock  to  gain, 
Yet  there  wilt  sleep  thy  last  sleep  on  the  plain, 
And  only  wake 
In  heaven's  day-break ; 
Rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 


BP 


196 


